


Sein und Liebe - Being and Love

by persephoneregina



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Humor, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Cussing, Cute, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Main pairing: YoungDo, Mentions of Alcohol Consumption, Mutual Pining, Philosophy, Pick-Up Lines, Professors, Romance, Side pairing: SeoHee, Side pairing: XiWoong, Slow Romance, Softness, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27783535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephoneregina/pseuds/persephoneregina
Summary: He’s good like that, keeping his own autonomy and his freedom of speech at work and having friends to hang out with the moment the day is done.The absolute perfect balance.Yes, no matter what people say or think, he’s at absolute peace with-Youngjo cannot carry out that thought: a loud knocking on his door requires his attention.“Hello, I’m Kim Youngjo, Contemporary Philosophy. Nice to meet you.” The man says, after clearing his throat, with a wide smile and vigorously shaking his limp hand.A fluffy, soft, slow burn, with bad philosophical puns on the side, featuring Youngjo being his corny self and Geonhak helplessly falling for his terrible pick up lines.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Kim Youngjo | Ravn
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	Sein und Liebe - Being and Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [belatedwannable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/belatedwannable/gifts).



> Hello my dearest ones!  
> Here I am with one of the commissions I have loved writing the most, so far.  
> This story was commissioned by the adorable Celia, who asked for a professor AU, rich with philosophy-based puns and lots of softness.  
> I hope I have lived up to the expectations, since this work means a lot to me, both emotionally and personally speaking.  
> Please leave a comment to let me know what you think about it!  
> As usual, if you wish to chitchat with me or keep up with my upcoming projects, you can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/persefoneregina)!

# Sein und Liebe

“Yeah well it’s not like he would have that big of an audience attending the lessons if the course wasn’t mandatory-”

“I know, right? And listen, I’m not saying that he’s a bad professor, I’m just saying that he always looks so emotionless that it’s almost disturbing.”

“True! And the way he sometimes stops speaking to stare at random people during the lesson? You know, when he gives you _the look_ … Creepy...”

“Ugh, I really hope he won’t do that to me during the exam or I’m gonna start crying. He’s just… Unsettling. Plus, everyone says he’s the strictest professor of the whole faculty. A girl I know says she failed his exam four times, he basically traumatised her.”  
  
“Really? And why?”  
  
“Well, according to her, he is totally obsessed with some specific terminology, so you have to tell him the exact words from the books or he’ll get incredibly upset and refuse to allow you to go on with the exam. The first time she failed, she forgot that Heidegger’s hermeneutic cycle had been defined “ _vicious_ ” in the commentary he assigned them and he deadass told her that the exam was over because that was an _unforgivable shortfall_.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Yeah, he’s terrifying. And he’s probably a pain in the ass even when it comes to his private life. Have you noticed that he’s the only one, in the whole department, that is friends with no other professor whatsoever?”

“No wonder they call him the Raven.”

“Jeez, at this rate in a few years we’ll have to call him the Grim Reaper.”

The Raven.

That’s how the students call him.

It had all started out as a joke, a few years ago, because he used to only wear black clothes, and then the nickname grew bigger than him, until it became something that, apparently, in the eyes of the students, defined him and marked him as a sort of antisocial weirdo.

He smiles.

Actually, having the students developing such an intricate mythology around him is not something inherently negative: it makes them more careful and accurate when studying his subject, and leads them to study a lot harder for his exams, which is his ultimate goal anyway. He’s not as severe as they say, to be honest: the girl those students were talking about came ridiculously unprepared and the “ _vicious cycle”_ thing was definitely the cherry on top of an embarrassing oral examination, but if it teaches his students to take terminology seriously and to develop a wider philosophical vocabulary, then be it. He’ll gladly accept being the villain in someone’s university horror stories: it’s only part of the game when you become a professor.

But when he hears the students speak about him like that, Kim Youngjo, tenured professor of Contemporary Philosophy in the University Department of Literature and Philosophy, likes to, sometimes, have a little fun playing along with the mythology they have so meticulously built around him and do a teeny tiny something to make them shudder, just for his personal amusement. After all, he doesn’t take what they say about him personally, but still finds it incredibly entertaining to see their reactions when he gives them something they expect his character to do.

While that group of students keeps on talking so animatedly about him and his methods, taking advantage of the general confusion that normally happens in class when a professor is a few minutes late, Youngjo sneaks in, unseen, and slams his books on the large, wooden desk, producing a deaf noise that echoes throughout the classroom and makes everyone go silent in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, more than fifty faces become white as sheets, eyes wide open turned towards him, apprehensively, expectantly, but most importantly, _terrified_.

“Good afternoon, everyone.” He says, as dryly as he can, taking his time to accommodate his black vicuna long coat on the backrest of the chair and sit down.

“Good afternoon, Professor.”

“I did not intend to eavesdrop the conversation some of you were entertaining just a few seconds ago, and even though I should be probably offended, I have to admit that I am pleased with the proficiency with which you were absorbed in something that is actually going to be the next subject of our course- Heidegger’s conception of _Gerede_ , or idle talk, if you will. Would you all please open your copies of _Sein und Zeit_ and go to chapter 35?” Youngjo says, flatly, and then lifts up his gaze to savor the shocked and awkward expressions that turn the faces of his students fifty shades of shamefulness. “Do we have a volunteer who wishes to read for us?”

_Ah, how he loves to live up to the expectations._

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


When the students say that Youngjo has no friends in the whole Department, they're not lying. He already has his friends, absolutely no intention of making any new ones. The only reason why his students have never noticed him hanging around with them is because most of them teach in different faculties, with the exception of Keonhee, Professor of History of Psychology, who holds a course for the students of Educational Science in Youngjo’s department. That’s pretty much his single occasion of meeting a friend at work: for the rest of the time, Youngjo sits in his study or in the library, preparing lessons, working on his essays and correcting exam papers. Though some may find in his habits a confirmation of his alleged asociality, Youngjo finds this specific pattern the most functional and efficient one, in order for him to keep his work out of his private life and vice versa, and he’s as content as he could be with it. Moreover, as someone who is extremely fond of fairness and impartiality, he knows that having friendships on the workplace can end up generating issues when it comes to expressing his concerns or disagreements with matters that might seem irrelevant, but that he finds essential to have a voice in, such as the distribution of the lecture halls, the exam dates, the lessons’ schedules. If his direct colleagues happened to be his friends, Youngjo knows he would have to refrain himself from being as vocal as he feels the need to be sometimes, because that might undermine their relationships, so he definitely doesn’t want to put himself in an uncomfortable position, where he would feel stuck between a rock and a hard place. He’s good like that, keeping his own autonomy and his freedom of speech at work, and having friends to hang out with the moment the day is done.

The absolute perfect balance.

Yes, no matter what people say or think, he’s at absolute peace with-

Youngjo cannot carry out that thought: a loud knocking on his door requires his attention.

* * *

  
  
  


Teaching is something that, somehow, has always played a big part in his life and in his plans for the future overall. It just always came natural to him, from his early school days, when he used to help his friends with homework, to when he used to babysit in order to earn something as a teenager, up to when, during his freshman year, he would be tutoring high school students in the subjects they were more lacking and help them obtain extraordinary results. He built his whole academic career in the hopes of becoming, one day, a university professor, but when he received the acceptance letter, following his application for that Chair in General Pedagogy, Geonhak almost fell face first on his kitchen’s floor. 

He stared at the letter for 30 minutes straight (and that was the only straight thing about him) before he actually realized that it was, indeed, real. Him, out of all people, had been chosen as the best candidate for that position, and he was back to his first day as professor’s assistant all over again: the tug at the stomach, the sea legs, the dry throat, the convulsed heartbeat, and before he knew, Geonhak was crying warm tears of gratitude and disbelief.

For the first time, he felt a sort of sudden realization, a weird sense of acknowledgement that somehow his whole life had led up to that moment. He stared at the kettle, out of focus, detached from reality, as there a weird feeling of dizziness and accomplishment at the same time took over him at once like a landslide, and while he kept staring without seeing, his head became empty and confused by a sensation similar to the one of the vertigo one gets when climbing a mountain and finally standing up on its top. 

He made it.

He made it.

He made it.

* * *

  
  


For his first day of lessons at the University Campus, Geonhak is quite tensed: he is trying his best to actually make an impact on his students and to set the bar for what his course is going to be like, so he does his very best to make sure that everything about his looks and his introduction speech is perfect in the slightest detail. Yes, he does have a speech ready. In spite of his ability as a professor, as a matter of fact, Geonhak still feels, at heart, like the shy, nervous teacher assistant he was five years before. 

Everything is so strange and unreal, from being greeted by the doorman with a cheerful “Goodmorning, Professor” to being handed the keys to his studio and personal mailbox, from the sound of his steps on the marble stairs to the complete silence of the corridor where his studio is, from the polite smiles the janitors offer him as he waves in their direction to the way students shy away from him, almost as if he had “Professor” written all over his face.

He takes a deep breath and fumbles with the keys in front of the door where, he hopes, he will be spending many years of his life. He always likes to tell his students to be brave and ambitious in life, to dare dreaming big, to trust their skills and allow life to lead them where they are aiming to be, but somehow all of those motivational words seem to be meaningless in that moment, while his heart beats so fast against his ribcage, as if it wanted to escape it at all costs, and his hands tremble on the doorknob, frozen by an overwhelming sense of fear.

A new beginning.

He always thought it would have been the best day of his life, but judging by how stiff and anxious he is right now, he should maybe reconsider. 

Eventually, he pulls himself together just enough for him to turn the key and open the door.

Geonhak exhales.

Then, carefully pulling the door closed behind himself, he takes all of his time to savor the moment: even though small and furnished quite essentially (there’s nothing more than a reclinable chair, a plywood desk and bookshelf), the studio is luminous, clean and quiet. Just what he needs to start settling in. Geonhak roams around the small room for a few minutes, gently caressing the edge of the desk, inhaling the pungent perfume of detergent, typical of a freshly cleaned up environment, and squeezing the padding of the chair’s backrest, that feels not too soft, not too rigid. 

He sighs, satisfied, and takes one last look around, with his hands on his waist, adopting the usual superhero pose in which he likes to stand before every lesson. Then, hands still shaking and sweating cold, he lays his tan leather briefcase on top of the desk and pulls out the few things he brought from home to start furnishing the studio to make it feel more personal, more like _him_ : a few books from when he used to be a student in university himself, frames with his diplomas and certificates, class photos of his high school students, a picture of him with his family, folders for organising documents, hand-outs and future tests, some papers he still needs to fill in, a desk calendar with puppies and, last but not least, a fragrance diffuser. In the end, when everything is set, he flops down on the chair. 

It’s just as comfortable as he imagined it would be. 

Yes, Geonhak thinks, while he rolls his shoulders and slightly unfastens the tight knot of his silk tie, feeling the muscles of his back slowly melting in the embrace of the padded leather backrest: he could definitely get used to that place.

* * *

  
  
  


“H-Hello?” A deep, stentorian masculine voice, followed by a loud knocking on his studio’s door, resonates from outside.

Youngjo promptly gets up from his chair and closes the distance between his desk and the door with a couple strides.

“I am very flattered that some of you are daring enough to come looking for me in my own studio, but, as stated outside, the reception time is on Monday and Thursday, from 4:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. and I'd appreciate it if next time you could observe… _Oh._ ” He begins to speak, mildly annoyed by the interruption, but the words die down in his mouth as soon as he raises his gaze and finds a tall, handsome man, dressed up in an unmistakably tailor made three-piece suit of forest green English tweed standing in front of him, with a quite bewildered expression on his face. 

“Sorry, you must have thought I was one of your students...” The handsome man says, lowering his face to shyly stare at his glossy patent leather shoes, clearly waiting for him to take the lead.

“Hello, I’m Kim Youngjo, Contemporary Philosophy. Nice to meet you.” He says, after clearing his throat, with a wide smile and vigorously shaking his limp hand. It’s cold and sweaty and he can feel it wince under his firm grip, to the point that Youngjo abruptly pulls back and lets go of his hold all at once, while the man stares at him, dumbfounded and confused, hand dangling in the air and probably questioning what the fuck is going on. Did he squeeze too tight? Well, it’s too late to ask now anyway, but nonetheless Youngjo cannot let go of the sense of embarrassment that is taking over him. 

“Kim Geonhak, General Pedagogy. Nice to meet you.” The other man replies, finally relieving the awkwardness lingering in the atmosphere between them and smiling as he gives him a quick look from the corner of his eyes. “I… I have just arrived and thought... You know... Let’s meet the neighbours.”

“Oh splendid, absolutely splendid, gorgeous new,s Geonhak… Can I call you Geonhak? Well, I already did so I hope you’re fine with that. Anyway, you’ll find out really soon that, in this department, most of our colleagues are very friendly and welcoming. If you’re a people person, I can assure you’ll find yourself fitting in extremely easily. I tend to live more by the Heideggerian motto, according to which _every man is born as many men and dies a single one_ , but if you are not like this, which I honestly hope, since this thing has not really been working out for me, then you will love it here.” Youngjo fires away, without even knowing what he’s saying, really, since he surely has no first hand experience of the alleged friendliness he’s talking about, nor what got into him to make him so talkative all of a sudden. The more he speaks, the more embarrassed he feels, the more he cannot stop rambling, and by the time his mouth _finally_ shuts the fuck up, he can tell, by the face of Geonhak, that he has probably stunned him with all of that nonsense.

“Wow… G-great, I guess…” Geonhak mutters, staring at him without not really knowing what to do or say at that point. All he knows is there is something lingering, in his mind, that makes him feel like he doesn’t want the conversation to end up like that, like he wants to cling to that slightly weird, but somehow fascinating man. Maybe it’s because he’s never been the sociable one, really, and even the thought of finishing on such an awkward note is giving him the most excruciating social anxiety. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel like roaming around the faculty like a lost child and desperately looking for someone else to introduce himself to. For whatever reason, all he knows is that his mind is restlessly pressuring him to believe that Kim Youngjo, who is now staring at him with an interrogative expression and mumbling things that sound like “So…” and “Well…”, has to be his person, in there, and that he has to give it his best shot at not letting the conversation die down like that. “So, do you think that we… You know... Could, uhm, go grab a coffee or something, one of these days? I don’t know if you do drink coffee, I don’t, but in case you do we can go for a coffee. Or anything else. Any other drink. Any other drink that you actually drink. Because you have to drink at some point to, you know, stay alive. I guess. I don’t know much about science and it really confuses me most of the time, but I’m fairly sure there’s quite a high chance you’ve had to drink in your life before to keep on...living.”

Youngjo carefully looks at him, perplexed as to how such an incredibly hot piece of ass could be that adorably shy. He looks lost, scared and desperate, and there’s a wistfulness in his eyes that, eventually, gets the best of Youngjo’s defenses. 

Yes, he’s not one to make friends at the workplace, but maybe, _just this once_ , he can make an exception.

“Jesus Christ, and I thought I was being awkward.” Youngjo teases, and they both end up giggling.

“Well, good thing I was terrible enough to make you feel better about yourself, because, no judgment here, but you really fucking sucked!” Geonhak playfully retaliates, chuckling.

“I know, I mean, when I talked about being friendly and outgoing I surely was not talking about me.” Youngjo admits, shaking his head and still laughing at himself.

“Believe me, I got that.” Geonhak says, with a wink, instinctively feeling more relaxed as the tension that was pestering the atmosphere just a few seconds before dissolves into thin air and he leans against the frame of Youngjo’s studio door. “So, coffee?”

“Yeah. Give me a second to grab my coat and let’s go grab that coffee, or whatever it is that you drink.”

Youngjo vanishes for a second behind the door, and Geonhak cannot help himself from peeking in. His studio is tastefully furnished with a dark wooden desk and black bookshelves, filled to the brim with an uncountable amount of antiquarian books, while, on the walls, he can detect some beautiful prints of some contemporary artists’ paintings. One of them, he’s sure, is the replica of Mark Rothko’s Black Blue Painting. Very tasteful.

While he waits, Geonhak cannot contain a wide smile.

He was right.

Youngjo really seems to be, without a doubt, the best person he could possibly wish to befriend.

* * *

  
  
  


After that one first coffee date, many more follow.

Whenever they have some spare time from their academic agendas, they meet and spend hours upon hours walking in the gardens surrounding the Faculty or at the café, sitting at the one that has now become their table, where they sip their tea and talk about every subject: their families, their friends, their students… It doesn’t really matter, they still manage to have a good time, as long as they’re together.

It’s a very hard thing for Youngjo to explain, but ever since he has met Geonhak, he has found himself naturally gravitating towards him, and, even though they see each other every day, when they say goodbye before going home, he still wishes they had more time to spend together. In spite of Geonhak’s shy personality, he notices how cheerful, quirky and talkative he can get, when he feels comfortable enough to be himself with someone, and there is something that makes Youngjo feel all warm and fuzzy inside, whenever he thinks that he is one of the lucky few people who have the privilege to witness that side of him.

Geonhak is probably the sweetest and most passionate individuals he has ever met in his whole life, with his endless love for his students and the incredible respect he has for the subject he teaches, and even though, sometimes, Youngjo’s cynical nature brings him to think that it’s just the beginner’s enthusiasm, he scolds himself for those kind of thoughts. He wishes with all of his heart for Geonhak to never lose that kind of drive, that dedication, that fondness, because that’s one of the many things that make him who he is, and Youngjo wouldn’t want him to be any different. 

He surely wouldn’t want him to be the way some of their colleagues are: tired, bored, demotivated. Geonhak is too precious to end up like that. He’s too sweet, too caring, too special. 

Sometimes, Youngjo thinks he’d do anything to preserve his spirit in such a perfectly pure condition, unharmed, untouched, unbroken. Geonhak makes Youngjo wish he could be better. Braver. Stronger. So that he could be in the position to be his bulwark against all evil.

It’s a silly thing to wish, Youngjo is aware, and also mildly ashamed at himself for allowing those kinds of thoughts to sneak into his, otherwise, extremely rational mind.

As long as they’re just thoughts, he has nothing to fear anyway, right?

...Right?

“Right?” Geonhak says, tapping on Youngjo’s hand to get his attention, while he takes a sip of his tea and inquisitively looks at him. 

“Uh?”

“You weren’t listening. Is anything the matter?” He asks, as he shifts position on the chair to get more comfortable, one leg crossed on top of the other and back resting against the wall.

“What are you talking about? I was listening! I heard everything perfectly!” Youngjo protests, but the violent blush rising on the apples of his cheeks clearly gives him away.

“Yeah… That’s a two for me.” Geonhak remarks, giggling as he swallows his tea and gently places the cup back on the saucer.

“A two?”

“Out of ten. You’re such a terrible liar it’s almost embarrassing.” Geonhak says, shaking his head.

“I’m not lying, what are you talking about?” Youngjo rolls his eyes and then turns his gaze to the still steaming teapot, trying to avoid Geonhak’s face at all costs. If he looks at him for just a second too long he’ll have to surrender and tell him the truth, that he had gotten carried away by his childish thoughts, and he would hate for Geonhak to think that he doesn’t listen to every single word he says like it’s pure gold.

  
  


“Ok then, what was the last thing I told you?” He insists, pinning his elbow on the table to rest his chin on the palm of his hand.

“Listen, you don’t get to test me at any given time, it’s not like I’m one of your students or something!” Youngjo bursts out with a loud, whiny voice, trying to keep up the joking mood, but really dying inside for Geonhak to let go and switch the subject.

“You’re right, I don’t offer tea to my students.” Geonhak eventually says, clearly still doubting him but eating the loss. For now at least.  
  
“Well, as far as I can remember, you didn’t offer it to me either, since I paid for it. _Every single time_.” Youngjo stresses with a foxy grin on his face and, taking advantage of the fact that his friend is obviously still overthinking, he decides that if he can’t be truthful, at least he can be funny. He pours a whole sugar packet in his hand, closes his fist and forms a small opening with his pinky finger. 

“Come on, you’re getting bitter about this whole stupid thing. Here, let me pour some sugar on you!” Youngjo says, before blowing in his fist and bursting out in a loud laughter as Geonhak engages in a vigorous battle against the grains of sugar.

“Kim Youngjo!” He shouts, jolting up on his feet.

At that point, Youngjo is given just a couple seconds of advantage to stand up as well and start running, while Geonhak tries his best to dust off the sugar from his blue, woollen blazer, before chasing him. 

They run and run through the beautiful garden, at breakneck speed, and the chase doesn’t end even when they enter the faculty, dashing and giggling through the quiet hall, climbing the stairs two by two and eventually ending when a small group of students appears in front of Youngjo, giving Geonhak the chance to close the distance.

Firmly, he places his arms around Youngjo’s shoulders and, when the students disappear from their view, he pushes him against the wall.

“Next time…” Geonhak murmurs, and Youngjo’s heart skips a beat, stunned as he is under the tight grasp of Geonhak’s hand on his shoulder and hypnotised by his perfume.

He smells like amber and leather, like zest and sage, like sandal and oud.

“What?” He brings himself to ask, panting and catching his breath. 

They’ve never been this close before.

He’s never felt this way about him before, either.

But be it the thrill of the chase, be it the sudden release of testosterone, be it momentum, Youngjo looks into Geonhak’s eyes and, for the first time, he thinks that he would like to bite away the air between them and then melt on those small lips with his own.

“...I’ll use maple syrup, and your Armani suit is not gonna like that.” 

  
  


* * *

“You like him! You really like him!!!” One of his longest time friends, Hwanwoong, chants from the sofa where he’s sitting, legs crossed and a box of pizza resting on top of his knees, as he tries to pull off his best impression of Sally Field, wielding a bottle of coke instead of the Oscar in his hands.

“Do I even have to enumerate the reasons why that is the worst idea ever, deontologically speaking?” Dongju, Hwanwoong’s boyfriend, Marketing professor, retorts, before munching on a huge slice of pizza and being dragged by his oh so loving boyfriend in an overpowering hug that almost chokes him.

“Oh, shut up Dongju! It’s so romantic!” Keonhee replies, his mouth stuffed with food making his slight lisp even more accentuated.

“Keonhee, I do not accept objections by a Psychology professor that calls the human brain _smart pudding_.” Dongju retaliates, poking Keonhee in the waist as he walks in front of him, making him whine and almost spit the bite of food he’s still chewing.

“Children, children, children!” Seoho, Keonhee’s husband, playfully reprimands them with a scoff, choking an amused giggle, from the velvet armchair where he’s sitting, as Keonhee sits on his lap and settles in his embrace with a pouty face. 

The more reactions Youngjo gets from them, the more he wishes he had stayed silent to begin with, since the one that was supposed to be just a calm and pleasant dinner with his friends is slowly becoming a CIA questioning, featuring Hwanwoong as the good agent and Dongju as the bad one.

He knew chaos would have broken loose the moment he spoke, but, at the same time, Youngjo is aware that he was dying to tell them about Geonhak, if not for the fact that, when he arrived to Seoho and Keonhee’s loft, all he could think about was how much he would have loved to bring Geonhak as well. It’s a weird thing, for him, to want to share his group of friends, which he’s very protective of, with someone else. But then again, he’s been feeling weird ever since he met Geonhak, so, in a way, it’s nothing new. He just doesn’t know how to deal with the overwhelming excitement and the endless amount of questions, remarks and suggestions he’s receiving.

“Can we please switch the subject? It’s not that big of a deal anyway...” Youngjo whines, suddenly regretting all of his life’s choices, while Dongju and Hwanwoong keep on bickering in the background as to what he should do about his big, fat crush on Geonhak.

“Not that big of a deal? Tell us another one, Youngjo.” Seoho teases, rolling his eyes at Youngjo’s poor attempt to smooth things over. “You haven’t had a crush since… When was it? Your freshman year in college?”

“Jeez, Seoho, not that old story again... It was a waste of time, anyway. I wanted to focus on studying, back then, I didn’t have the time, nor the mindset, to commit to a relationship.” Youngjo responds. He genuinely loves Seoho, but he doesn’t want to have that kind of conversation right now. The two of them have always had a very different perspective on life, and even though they both value their friendship incredibly much, sometimes their divergences lead them to quite some quarrels. On the one hand, Seoho, with his multifaceted nature and capability to excel in every field he commits himself to, has shown quite some difficulties in understanding Youngjo’s mindset and, because of his bluntly honest ways, has never been the one to back down when it comes to telling him how it is, or, in his words, to _call him out on his bullshit_. On the other hand, Youngjo’s staid and touchy character doesn’t really help the communication, as he can’t help but feel attacked and clam up whenever Seoho points out anything he’s too sensitive about.

“Yeah, keep on lying to yourself, Youngjo, whatever helps you sleep at night. I’m not going to stop you, even though we all know it was never a matter of time. Heck, I was studying nuclear physics back then, and yet, when I met him,” He says, hugging Keonhee tightly and pressing a kiss on his cheek, “I knew right away that he was worth my best shot. It is never a matter of time, if you really care. The truth is, you got burnt that one time and decided that nosediving in your books was the way to go. At first, you wanted to focus on your Bachelor’s. After that, on your Master’s degree. And then on your PhD. And then on your work as an associate professor. And then you became a tenured professor. So, basically, as a result of your devotion and integrity, the only person you have really ever had a long lasting relationship with, for all these years, has been Martin Heidegger.”

“AND WHAT ABOUT IT?”

“HE’S DEAD, YOUNGJO!”

A sudden curtain of silence falls, and for a second Seoho and Youngjo stare into each others’ eyes with the intensity of two cowboys in some old western movie with Clint Eastwood, while everyone else in the room keeps staring at them, without really knowing what to do. When things get out of hand like that, they generally know better than to get in their way, but, all of a sudden, a subtle giggle leaves Keonhee’s lips and, before they know, all of them burst out in a choir of laughters that infectiously explodes in the room.

They laugh and laugh, just like children, until their stomachs and cheekbones ache and tears rise to their eyes. It doesn’t matter if that’s because they’re all teasing him, Youngjo thinks, as he softly smiles and fondly looks at the jolly faces of his friends, who are still cackling and fanning themselves with their hands to catch their breath. In the end, he’s comfortable enough to even allow them to make a fool of him.

Nevertheless, the light in his eyes dims down a little and he has to bite his lower lip when a melancholic thought crosses his mind.

How he wishes Geonhak would be there, with them, even just to laugh at him like everyone else.

He likes Geonhak’s laughter.

Enough to bear the embarrassment of playing the fool, if it means he gets to listen to it.

The rest of the night goes by in the usual relaxed manner, as they all get to lay down on the soft carpet in the center of the living room, back resting against the sofa, all snuggled up under a couple of warm plaids, and try to come up with a movie everyone wants to watch. The fact that they try definitely doesn’t mean they are eventually capable of agreeing on a single title, because everyone insists they watch a movie that is completely incompatible with what anyone else wants to see.

“Come on guys, let’s watch Kinky Boots!” Hwanwoong pleads with an overly honey-coated voice, relentlessly tugging and shaking Dongju’s arm, as if that would make any difference.

“No, Woongie, we’ve already watched it two weeks ago.” Seoho calmly answers, making an attempt at the path of diplomacy.

“But I-” He whines, yanking Dongju once more, which makes him turn around and zap him with a deadly glare, as he shouts something on the lines of “Will you fucking stop already? I don’t even like that! All I ask is to watch The Hills Have Eyes and yet everyone boots it every time, so don’t play the victim because for once you didn’t get what you wanted!”

“We are _not_ watching any horror movies in this household, _ever_ , end of the question, or I’ll have to send Keonhee to see a therapist.” Seoho stresses, this time way more firmly, as he reaches out to wrap his hand around Keonhee’s, who instead winces out of his grip and vividly protests by screaming “BUT I’M THE THERAPIST!”

“That’s why we can’t have you losing your shit! What’s that dude, whose wife ran away with her yoga instructor, going to do if you cannot see him three times a week?” Seoho replies, grabbing his husband’s face with both hands and placing a loud, wet kiss on his nose tip. 

“Oh, you’re so thoughtful honey…” Keonhee answers with a soft smile, leaning against him and gently rubbing his head against Seoho’s shoulder in a catlike way. “Hey, Youngjo,” he then adds, redirecting everyone’s attention towards him, “It’s been a while since we watched a movie suggested by you. Since you’re the man of the hour, why don’t you choose?”

“Uh? Me?” Youngjo asks, surprised. Generally all of his suggestions end up being brushed off in the span of two seconds, at most.

“Yeah, Keonhee is right. You should be the one to pick.” Seoho chimes in, as well. “Maybe it’ll take that frown off of your face.”

“Well, if I get to choose, then I want to watch something romantic. Moulin Rouge?” When he drops that title, he can tell that not everyone is enthusiastic right away, but there must be something about the way he said it that suddenly turns all his friends’ perplexed expressions into warm smiles right away.

“Moulin Rouge it is!” Keonhee cheers, joyfully, probably thankful to him for suggesting a movie he won’t get nightmares about afterwards.

While Seoho goes to fetch the DVD from the remarkable collection he and Keonhee have at their place, Dongju subtly gets closer to Youngjo and gently pulls the sleeve of his shirt to draw his attention to him. “Hey, hyung,” he whispers, “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure thing. Spit it out.”

“I… I know I told you to give up on pursuing this Geonhak dude, and I still think it’s not advisable to be in a relationship with a colleague, but… I’ve never seen you being so fond of someone in a very long time, and you deserve to be happy. You deserve someone who puts butterflies in your stomach and stars in your eyes, and he seems to have been able to make his way into your heart. I don’t know him personally, but judging from how you talk about him, you seem to think he’s the one, and if that’s the case, then you should do everything in your power to win him over.” Dongju says, in a dead serious tone. There’s no sarcasm or irony in his tone. On the contrary, he sounds sweet and caring, and his shiny, big, doe eyes give away all of his sincerity.

Youngjo smiles, as he softly pats the back of his friend’s hand.

“Thank you, Dongju. It means a lot to me.”

“ _You_ mean a lot to me. To all of us. So Geonhak better be careful and behave, or you can be sure he’ll find all the four of us going after his sorry ass.” He says with a wink. “...And don’t get used to having your way with these greasy, sappy, corny movies. Next time I’m going to fight you all the way.”

* * *

The morning after, when he arrives at university, the first thing Youngjo does is try to spot Geonhak’s car in the parking lot, to see if he has arrived. He’s always early, generally, but he cannot seem to find it anywhere, so, after waiting for ten minutes more, he just gives up and heads to his studio, in a gloomy mood. It’s the first day of the exam sessions and Youngjo is definitely not in the best place to deal with almost forty students, especially if he doesn’t get to at least say hi to Geonhak beforehand. Not like he had in mind anything specific, he just genuinely wanted to see him, and now instead of the excitement with which he usually arrives at his workplace, there is a sense of inexplicable nervousness that makes him frown and twitch and feeling triggered by nearly everything. The worst part, though, is that Youngjo is fully aware of how unbecoming it is of him, to be that upset and moody at such nonsense, yet he doesn’t seem to be able to brush it off.

Holding his head down low, he walks through the corridor up to the door of his studio with powerful strides, taking a quick glare at the crowd of anxious students, who barely dare to look at him in return while they quietly greet him with shy smiles and hesitant mutters. 

_New semester, same old song_ , he thinks. 

At every single session, he has to see the exact same displays of panic and turmoil in his students: the pale faces, the dark circles carved under their eyes, the way their hands tightly tug at their notes and frantically highlighted books, the expressions of defeat they make when they walk into his studio as if they were walking the plank; it’s almost a dreadful ritual, actually, and it brings him no joy to see them living his exams with such anguish.

What would really bring him joy would be seeing them calm, rested, prepared and confident in their knowledge, but, apparently, when you’re The Raven, you are almost condemned to embody the students’ ideal of the most devilish and merciless professor. He sees it. There’s not a chance of redemption, for him, in their eyes, no matter how much he encourages them to face the exam with a calm heart or how polite he is towards them during their oral interviews. 

As he looks for the list of students he is supposed to interview that day to pin it on the notice board outside, he hears a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Youngjo says, without even bothering raising his eyes, “Eager to begin the exam?”

“Before you say anything, I want you to know that I have nailed every single Philosophy exam I ever took in university, so you might be in for a pleasant surprise.” A cheerful, familiar voice shakes Youngjo from his crankiness and makes him look up in a jolt.

It’s him.

It’s him, and it feels like all the gloom has been lifted from Youngjo’s body.

“Can’t really imagine a more pleasant surprise than seeing you before beginning the slaughter. Come, take a seat.” Youngjo says, trying to not give away how unbelievably happy he feels now that Geonhak is there.

“Sap!” Geonhak answers with a bright smile, as he sits down on the chair in front of his desk and pulls out a brown paper bag, with a darker logo of some bakery printed on the front. “Here, have a cookie. A little sweetness before _the slaughter_ won’t hurt you. Also, what a horrible wording for an examination! Slaughter? Really?”

“For that matters, I did not come up with that. _They_ did.” Youngjo replies, grabbing one of the chocolate chip cookies and taking a large bite. “I’m just claiming it back. What do you call it?”

“A friendly talk. Firstly, because that’s what it should be. Secondly, because it makes the students more relaxed. In the end, an exam is just a conversation aimed to verify that the notions discussed during my course have been efficiently acquired.” Geonhak replies, looking at Youngjo with the kind of gaze one gives to the rebel kid that does his best to look edgy, but ends up proving to be an incurable softie. 

“Yeah, but the difference is that, in their eyes, you're the peaceful dove, I’m the grim raven.” He observes, ever so slightly saddened.

In all honesty, Youngjo really thought he had grown quite the thicker skin on that matter, but apparently, even on said subject, Geonhak’s very own superpower is to subvert his beliefs.

“You? A grim raven? Please…” Geonhak says, teasingly giggling as he leans in on the desk and playfully boops Youngjo’s nose.

“What?” He retorts, almost offended at how lightly Geonhak dismisses his remark.

“I just think it’s funny how you spend six months with your students and they end up knowing nothing about you, nothing at all. You’re anything but grim, and most definitely not a raven. More like a grumpy cat, if you ask me. All you need to warm up to others is a little time, quite some faith and a handful of cuddles here and there. You should let people see you for who you are, Youngjo. You’d be surprised at just how much they would cherish you.”

Youngjo looks at him, with a half smile and eyes filled with gratefulness and adoration. He would like to thank him for believing so firmly in him and always showing such a vivid support in his regards. He would want to tell him how much his words mean to him. He would also like to be brave enough to stand up, lovingly caress his cheeks and tell him how much he adores him in return, but all he manages to do, while his stomach tosses and turns and his cheeks become flushed with a bright pink blush, is to take another bit of the cookie and say, with his mouth still stuffed: “Who’s the sap now?”

“Must be contagious. See, spending time with you is affecting me too in the most negative way. And now, since being with you for too long not only turns me into an incurable sap, but also makes me feel extra naughty,” Geonhak says, fumbling with the paper bag and aggressively biting a cookie, “I’ll bluntly steal this from you, so that I can go back to my usual, sweet, soft self. Plus, I’m fairly sure nobody here needs to know what happens when the ultimate edgelord is on a sugar high, am I right?”

“ _How remarkably caring of you_.” Youngjo says, playing along and standing up to bid Geonhak goodbye walking him to the door.

“I know, I’m practically an angel.” Geonhak replies with a smile and, right before Youngjo can open up the door for him, he turns towards him to pull him in a tight hug. “Here, get yourself some love. You never know, but it might come in handy on such a long day.”

For a few seconds, Youngjo just stands there, stunned by the firm and warm embrace of Geonhak’s arms. It takes him a bit to reciprocate, to convince himself that it is happening for real and that he should hug him in return, and quick, or he’ll look even more awkward. Hesitantly, Youngjo tightens his arms around his waist and, ever so gently, leans his head on Geonhak’s shoulder. His shoulders, underneath the soft and smooth blazer, feel so firm and comforting that, soon enough, Youngjo allows himself, even if just for a second, to sink his face in them and relish in such an unprecedented sense of safety, which he just now realizes has long been craving for. He closes his eyes and sighs, inhaling Geonhak’s perfume, listening to the soothing sound of his breath, melting under the way his warm hands smooth his back. Even if this fleeting moment of comfort only lasts for the blink of an eye, after Geonhak leaves and the exam session officially begins, Youngjo still can’t help himself from feeling all warm and fuzzy, so much that he keeps on smiling for the rest of the day.

For the first time in the history of all of his examinations, there are no failures.

* * *

  
  
  


_Doing everything in his power to win him over._

Those words keep haunting Youngjo, even after quite a few weeks after the dinner.

Obviously, as a matter of principle, he couldn’t agree any more: Youngjo has been aware, for a while now, that he is very much willing to give his best shot at courting Geonhak. The issue, though, is that he has been, so to speak, out of the circuit for quite a long time. Long enough for him to even forget how to hit on someone, let alone how to be smooth while doing it, but he’s more than willing to try. 

He just has no idea as to how.

Yet.

When Youngjo decides that the time has come to make a move (well, more like an attempt at making a move, to be completely fair) he doesn’t really know where to start from.

A dinner might feel like too formal and too much pressure for a first date, plus he would have to be the one to pick a restaurant and, in all honesty, Youngjo definitely doesn’t have that much knowledge of restaurants, nor does he know what kind of place would be appropriate. Indeed, a fancy place would be the most romantic option, but, then again, he doesn’t want Geonhak to feel any kind of embarrassment when ordering food because of the tab, nor does he want him to stress over things like dress code and stuff like that. On the contrary, going for a more informal option might end up resulting in belittling the importance of the date in Geonhak’s eyes, and that is most definitely the last thing Youngjo would ever want. 

He wants it to feel special, but at the same time he doesn’t want to make things awkward.

Youngjo then evaluates a date to the movies, but immediately discards the idea, because, in spite of their mutual passion for cinema, it would deprive him of what he loves the most about Geonhak: talking and, even more so, listening to him.

Another possibility that crosses his mind is to ask him out for a tea at a cat café, and yet Youngjo ends up dismissing that option as well: in fact, he has absolutely no idea as to whether Geonhak may be allergic to cats, and if that happens to be the case, that would not only make him look incredibly insensitive, but also thoughtless and uncaring. 

Whenever a project comes to his mind, the faster he rules it out, for nothing seems sweet enough or thoughtful enough or just, generally speaking, fitting for Geonhak.

The more his mind paces back and forth between every possible option, the more confused and defeated he feels. 

Why the fuck does this have to be so hard?

How do other people do that?  
Heck, Seoho asked Keonhee out on a friday and, by the following monday, they were already an item. Not to mention the absurd way with which Hwanwoong and Dongju got together after a single date at a diner, where they had pancakes and milkshakes for dinner.

Why can’t he do that as well? 

Why does it seem to be so easy for everyone but him?

He is aware that he definitely doesn’t lack the assets to make an impression; he knows he can be quite charming and magnetic, and yet, when it comes to Geonhak, his mind just goes blank.

The craziest part about it is that, whenever the two of them are together, no matter what they do or what they talk about, it still feels like heaven. They have such an incredible connection, that it’s actually cruelly ironic how Youngjo feels petrified at the thought of actually going that extra mile, of putting himself out there and trying to bring the relationship to the next stage.

  
  


After one of their usual dinners, during which his friends not only can clearly tell that he’s been way more melancholic and quiet than usual, but also notice that he must be trying to escape whatever is troubling him by picking up a few more drinks than he would normally do, they all realize that the situation is not aging well.

When Youngjo walks up to the kitchen to get himself another glass of wine, though, Seoho follows right away to do what he does best: keeping it real.

“How about this, instead?” He asks, as he opens up the cupboard of the kitchen and waves a tube of aspirins in front of Youngjo’s eyes. “Come on. Do it for Keonhee. He’s worried.”

“About what?” Youngjo asks, apathetically, grabbing a tablet and tossing it in a glass of water, a soft fizz erupting in the background as they look at each other and Seoho raises one of his eyebrows in return.

“You haven’t looked so miserable since the day David Bowie died. Do I have to assume he declined your invitation? Is that why you’re in the mood for a funeral?” Seoho asks, trying to keep it playful, but earning himself a deadly glare from Youngjo, who stiffens up at once, assuming the _do-not-fuck-with-me_ posture he usually gets into when he’s about to clam up to avoid a conversation. “Listen, hyung, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come across as aggressive, you know that words aren’t really my thing, but at the same time I think I speak for everyone here when I say we’re sincerely worried about you. If you don’t want to talk about whatever is going on, fine. Just… Please stay here tonight. Or let me take you home. I can take you there with your car and call a cab to come back, no biggie, whatever sounds best for you. You’ve had a few too many drinks and you’re clearly upset, it’ll be dangerous for you to drive in these conditions.”

Youngjo sighs, feeling both cornered and relieved at the same time. He hates being a bother and doesn’t mean to give his friends any more trouble, but he also is lucid enough to understand that Seoho is right (though it pains him to admit). Maybe he should break the silence and accept his friends’ help. Maybe all he needs is a nice talk and allowing them to take care of him, instead of keeping everything to himself, as he would be usually inclined to do. He looks at Seoho, pressing his lips together, and then nods, surrendering to his friend’s suggestion.

“Can we move to a more private place?” Eventually, Youngjo asks.

“Sure. Let’s go to Keonhee’s studio. He just bought a new couch and it’s as soft as a cloud.” Seoho answers, making way for him to his husband’s studio.

When they get there, Youngjo sinks in the soft, velvet sofa and remains silent for quite a few minutes to gather his thoughts, before turning around and giving Seoho a half smile. “I’m such a fucking mess.”

“I mean, nothing new really, but you know what they say, the first step to healing is self awareness. Do you, by chance, care to elaborate on that?” Seoho asks, trying to understand how to do that heart to heart talk kind of thing. _Fuck, I should’ve sent Keonhee_ , he thinks to himself. He’s gorgeous at grabbing the bull by the horns and diving head first in any kind of honest confrontation, but emotional talk is not really something he’s naturally equipped for. Nevertheless, he surely cannot back down now. He needs to do his best for Youngjo, because witnessing Youngjo opening up, especially with him, is an event that happens once in a blue moon. He has to rise to the occasion, even if it makes him feel uncomfortable, and he has to do it now. “Youngjo… Whatever went on, it cannot be too bad...”

“...That's the problem, Seoho. Nothing went on. It’s been weeks and I didn’t have the guts to ask him out."

“ _Oh_.”

“Don’t you _oh_ me! it’s not like you’re some Rodolfo Valentino or something, anyway.” Youngjo retorts, quite irritated. He knows Seoho doesn’t deserve this kind of dry answer, but, at the same time, he feels overly sensitive on the subject and there is a sort of childish neediness, deep down, to be coddled and babied, rather than being confronted with the truth. He probably would have been more fortunate if Keonhee had gone to talk to him in the first place, since his manners are always very delicate and he has this way of expressing his point of view that is both gentle and compelling at the same time. Then again, though, his mind goes back to what his father used to tell him when he was a child, and which, in a way, he has been applying to his teaching experience: spare the rod, spoil the child.

He sighs.

Yes, maybe Seoho is not who he would want to discuss the situation right now, but, probably, he is exactly who he needs.

“I think I know what’s going on, and you probably won’t like it at all, but I’ll break it down to you anyway, since if I won’t, then nobody will.”

“As always.”

“...As always. Listen, Youngjo, I don’t have a good time always being the one who disses you for your bullshit, and trust me, I take no pleasure in it. The way I see it, you’re overthinking this whole thing. You want everything in your life to be perfect, and, in a way, this sort of obsession has worked for you in many different aspects: your career, for one. But not _everything_ has to go according to plans, not everything _can_. Even more so in a situation where you have to take into consideration the presence of another person, their reactions, their feelings, their ideas. You think that you have to ask him out in a smooth, flawless way, using the right words, suggesting the perfect date, and that this will be the only way to court the perfect man, when, actually, it doesn’t really matter. So you end up stuck in this rut of excruciating inagency, where all you do is hope for the right idea to come to mind, and, in the meanwhile, time goes by and so does your chance with him. The more you’ll think about it, chasing some absurd ideas of perfection, the more crystallized in your anxieties you will eventually end up being.” Seoho knows that, to break through Youngjo’s defenses, he has to be as soft spoken, delicate and understanding as much as he possibly can, but he also has to make sure to keep it real and leave no leeway for him to hide behind alibis and excuses. 

If it only depended on him, he would have been even more straightforward, but judging by the way Youngjo keeps sucking in his cheeks, nibbling on his lips, and tossing and turning on the sofa as if he were laying down on a bed of nails, this kind of situation really does require him to work his way by using a different strategy. 

“And what is your suggestion?” Youngjo asks, in a breath, intrinsically agreeing that Seoho is right by not protesting in any way, just turning his head towards him and looking at him with eyes so lost and helpless it almost moves him.

He has never seen Youngjo like that and, somehow, it does not only pain him, but it also makes him feel under an incredible amount of pressure.

Seoho looks back at Youngjo, for a second, but cannot bear his inquisitive, desperate gaze. His eyes drop low and his entire posture shifts, almost enclosing himself, under the metaphorical weight he feels on his shoulders, in a curled up position, with his hands intertwined and nails fidgeting around his cuticles, trying to release the tension. The fact that he cannot get this wrong, that his friend’s happiness almost entirely depends on what he is going to tell him in that moment, is an excruciating awareness that lingers in the back of his mind, and from which, yet, Seoho cannot allow himself to back away.

“I do not know him, if not from your words, so I cannot really tell you which way to go with your courting. So don’t expect that from me. But I know something about relationships and, if there is one thing I can suggest to you, is that you don’t have to strive for anything inauthentic. Right now you two are friends, and this actually gives you an advantage, because you know that he likes you for who you are. So don’t try to do anything completely different from what feels truthful to you. Don’t try to please him at all costs by turning yourself into the person you think he would like. Don’t try to become his shrink or to over analyze him. Be who you already are, suggest activities you would genuinely enjoy, talk to him like you would normally do and, please, be open about your feelings. If you have to shape yourself to be liked by someone, then that’s not the right one for you.”

“ _But_ -“ Youngjo tries to retort, but it's of very little use. Before he can say anything else, Seoho interrupts him.

“No, Youngjo, no _but_. Listen… Think about it this way: you like shopping, right?” Seoho asks, cutting him short. “Now imagine what would you feel if Geonhak asked you to go shopping, you accepted, had a great time, but then it turned out that he despised every minute because he actually hates shopping.”

“Well, I guess I would feel stupid for not noticing and sorry for having given him the idea that he had to do something he hates just to be with me.” Youngjo answers after thinking about that question for a few seconds, pulling himself up to sit on the sofa and combing his hair back from his face with both of his hands. Damn, he never thought about it under that kind of perspective, and now that Seoho brings it up, it actually makes a lot more sense than he ever thought it would. He raises his face and offers his friend a smile of surrender, feeling in check, but in a healthy, pleasant and, most of all, relieving way.

“Exactly. This kind of thing not only is upsetting, but is also the root for the kind of miscommunication that, if not addressed early in a relationship, grows up to become frustration and bitterness. So, to sum it up, if you really want to do the best thing, be yourself and speak yourself.” Seoho eventually concludes, standing up with his hands in his pockets and his back perfectly straight, as he walks towards Youngjo and smiles brightly at him.

There is a long pause of silence, between the two of them, as Youngjo lets his friend's words sink in and Seoho tries not to interfere by pushing him to say anything, but he can tell, by the change in his expression, that something must be going on in his mind.

As a matter of fact, Youngjo has always had a very peculiar expression when he was focused on something. Seoho remembers it from their early college years, when they would go to the library together to study for their finals: everyone looked uninterested and bored, but not him. When he was absorbed by something, one could have literally seen him putting on his thinking cap by the way his brows furrowed and his lips pursed, and that circumstance surely makes no exception.

Then, after some minutes, Youngjo sighs and softly pats on his thighs with the palms of his hands, rubbing them lightly and grabbing on his knees.

“I guess you’re right. I should just… give it a go.” He eventually says, nodding his head before looking at him with sincere gratefulness “Thank you, Seoho.”

“No worries, old man, that’ll be 250’000 won.” He playfully answers, patting Youngjo's back and giggling at his own joke.

“Wow, really loving how you’re keeping it affordable, aren’t you?” Youngjo says, humoured, before standing up, understanding that counseling time is over.

“Oh well, you know what they say… If you’re good at doing something, never do it for free.” His reply is what makes the both of them ultimately burst out in laughter for good.

“ _Jesus Christ_ …”

“It's Seoho, for you.”

They both laugh, again, and even though Youngjo's response is an over dramatic eye roll, he couldn't feel any more thankful and blessed for having such a precious friend in his life. To him, Seoho has always been that kind of presence that has the capability to make him realize when he is getting way too much in his head, and who is in no way whatsoever afraid to point it out. Thing which, he has to admit, is very needed, considering his remarkable skill of overthinking every single event in his life and letting it get to him.

"Come on, let's go back to the living room. The others may be worried by now." Seoho says, in a soft spoken voice, before hugging Youngjo. "Oh, and don't tell Keonhee we came here. He's so _nonsensically_ jealous of his studio..."

Youngjo smiles and nods, as they break the embrace. "Maybe because he knows just what a terribly cheeky monkey you are and doesn't want you fumbling around his papers..."

"But why wouldn't he want me to? We're married, _for fuck's sake_!" Seoho protests, faking outrage as they make their way back to the living room, from which they hear the muffled voices of Hwanwoong and Dongju bickering, again, about which movie to watch.

"I may not be an expert, but I'm quite sure it's called _doctor-patient confidentiality_." Youngjo suggests, under his breath.

"...And what about the sacred bonds of marriage?"

"Seoho, you didn't get married in Church, what are you even talking about?" Youngjo teases, shaking his head, while Seoho still plays his little crybaby gag for his amusement.

"I'm just saying that we have shared way more intimate things than his patients' files. Why would that be an issue? Moreover, I wouldn't even have anyone to talk about those files with!" He whines, manifesting his upsetment by bumping against Youngjo's shoulder, but quickly cackling as he almost trips on his own feet.

"Seoho, you mentioned the patient whose wife ran away with his pilates tutor..." Youngjo stresses, bumping him back in return, to get his revenge.

"Yoga, actually." Seoho quickly points out, proving exactly Youngjo's point.

"Yeah, yoga, whatever that is, no longer than ten days ago. I would say Keonhee has all the rights to lock you out of his studio and shove the key so far up his ass not even a team of speleologists could find it."

"Oh, finally, you came back!" Keonhee exclaims, before giving them an inquisitive, suspicious look "Where did you go?"

Both Youngjo and Seoho loudly swallow the guilt in their throats and look at each other, guilt written all over their faces. Then, Seoho winks at Youngjo and, before he can say anything, he turns around and says, with all the confidence in the world: "Well, Youngjo hyung was kind of tipsy and needed someone to help him pee."

"To... Do... What?" Keonhee asks, brows furrowed, speechless and impressed in the least positive way possible. "Just to check you remember after five years of living in this house, you _do_ remember that the bathroom is the other way, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Seoho tries to answer, scratching the back of his head, while his ears turn a glowing, bright red in a matter of seconds.

“No, no, shut up, nevermind, I don’t even wanna know.” Keonhee replies, raising the palm of his hand in front of Seoho’s face as he turns around and crawls back under the plaids, joining Hwanwoong and Dongju, who are still arguing on whether they should see Hair or The Exorcist.

“Couldn’t your bright little brain come up with a better excuse?” Youngjo asks, under his breath, trying not to make too much noise but still upset about Seoho’s absurd reply.

“I still got us out of trouble, didn’t I?” He answers, with a sly smile, before joining the others himself and nestling next to Keonhee, sprinkling his hand with soft kisses.

Youngjo looks at them and cannot help but smile, endeared. 

Oh, how he wants what they have.

* * *

  
  


The thing Youngjo hates about sleeping over at someone’s house is that he ends up deprived of all those little comforts and rituals he usually follows in the morning to start the day on the right note.

He likes to have his morning coffee in complete silence, he likes to take a forty five minutes long shower, during which he rehearses the important parts of his lecture for the day, he likes to carefully pick a tie that compliments his suit and, last but not least, he likes to check himself in the mirror to make sure he looks perfectly neat and polished in the slightest detail.

He just gets a particular satisfaction when he does all of those things, and not being able to have the privacy to follow his morning routine step by step is very upsetting. So, since he cannot take his time to do what would usually make him feel good, the following morning he has a quick coffee with Keonhee and Seoho, takes a shower and leaves, as soon as he can, to hole up in his studio at the University, to have time to recover some serenity before class time.

Ah, if only he could meet with Geonhak before their lessons…

That kind of thought suddenly turns a switch on in Youngjo’s mind, remembering his conversation with Seoho: that could actually be a perfect chance to, at least, make an attempt at asking Geonhak out for a breakfast date. That way, it wouldn’t be too formal or stressful for either of them and, in case of a refusal, Youngjo probably wouldn’t feel too bad about it or look too much into it.

He types a message and deletes it about 20 times, as everything reads either too formal, too awkward or too simple, and right when he is about to give up, that’s when he has a second awakening: if he cannot make it perfect, at least he should make it funny, and, most importantly, instead of texting, he should probably call.

"I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse: breakfast together at the English Girl’s Cafe, 8:30. Either that or you’ll find a horse's head on your desk tomorrow morning.” Youngjo spits out nervously as soon as Geonhak picks up, not even leaving him the time to say hi.

“You know, I might be tempted to say no just for the sake of putting you through the trouble of finding a horse, killing it, severing its head and finding a way to sneak it into my office overnight.” Geonhak replies, and Youngjo clutches his heart, filled with joy, as he hears him laughing on the other end of the line.  
  
“Please don’t do this to me…” Youngjo answers, through the giggles, while Geonhak bursts out in a gleeful, loud laughter.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling extra special today. I’m coming, but you’re buying.” Geonhak eventually says, this time with a sweeter, though still playful, tone.

“Like this wasn’t my intention the whole time.” Youngjo teasingly retorts, a faint blush rising on the apples of his cheeks.

“Wait... Now that I think about it… Is this something like a date? Should I put on my evening suit?”  
  
“Why, absolutely _yes_. I expect you to be all spruced up and dressed to the nines.” He definitely has to muster all of his courage to answer yes to that kind of question, but also feels kind of encouraged to be a little more daring considering the overall waggish vibe of their conversation.

“How I love a fancy start to the day! You really know how to make me feel like a _total gentleman_.” Geonhak answers, mockingly staging a posh accent. 

“Oh, shut up, you rascal!” Youngjo softly cackles, shaking his head, while he slides inside of his car and puts on his seatbelt, ready to head to the location he suggested.

“Well, in a short while we’ll see if you can make me!” It’s Geonhak’s short answer, that, somehow, makes Youngjo blush even more, as he cannot even bring himself to seriously think, for more than a second, about the only solution that comes to mind when he imagines the perfect option to seal those pretty lips.

The English Girl’s Cafe is a pretty venue, edified at the center of a park and close to an artificial lake, with a lovely porch and outside tables in white varnished wrought iron. It has a circular base, both the outer and inner walls delightfully painted in pastel green, with contrasting white pilasters, lintels, arcs and ridges, that cut its art deco glass dome in eight sections.

When Youngjo arrives, there are fairly few clients queued inside, while, sitting outside, at an isolated table, an old man and his young granddaughter are calmly having breakfast and chipperingly chitchatting. He decides to sit at a table in the opposite direction, to cause them no disturbance by unwillingly getting too close. The last thing he would want is to ruin such a precious moment by giving them the idea that he could be eavesdropping their sweet conversation, or make them uncomfortable in any other way. So, he sits down, pulls a copy of Sartre’s _Being and Nothingness_ out of his briefcase and starts to read, trying not to look at his watch or check his phone in the meantime. Unfortunately, though, all of his efforts to focus on his reading end up failing quite miserably; as matter of fact, actually, all he can think of is if Geonhak is really going to come to their _date-but-also-not-really-a-date_. He is fairly early, so there is no actual reason to panic, but then again, telling that to his overly anxious mind is a whole other matter than being rationally aware of that. While he waits, Youngjo cannot seem to stand still, as his left foot keeps uncontrollably tapping on the porch’s white parquet, and he keeps tossing to find a comfortable position on that chair, which suddenly seems as unpleasant as a bed of thorns.

He tries to soothe his mind with every possible reassurance: maybe he got stuck in a traffic jam, maybe he is having trouble finding a parking spot, maybe a plumbing broke at his house and his apartment is flooded, maybe a pinecone hit him on the head and he has completely lost his memory, maybe…

“Will you put down this book?” 

Youngjo shudders, taken by surprise, as if Geonhak’s voice had just woken him from a dream. 

“Such a delightful view and all you’re looking at is that goddamn book!” Geonhak sits down in front of him, as dashing as ever, wearing a beautiful taupe fustian blazer, a beige shirt and pair of deep blue slacks, golden hair slicked back and a heavy pair of turtle-like colored glasses. 

“Well, I’m looking at you now.” Youngjo remarks, raising his eyes and gazing at Geonhak so fondly that the other man cannot help but slightly bowing his head, to hide away the bright blush on his cheeks and ears, and smile, in return. It’s one of those smiles that one can see only on the faces of those who wander the world completely unaware of their grace and beauty, so modest, genuine and pure, that it almost feels like witnessing some sort of prodigious natural phenomenon. Like a sunrise in the desert, like stargazing in the Aegean sea, like an endless Scandinavian night, Geonhak smiles in a manner that lets his whole heart and soul unfold for Youngjo to cherish ever so preciously, leaving him marveling in awe.

He’s beautiful in a way that transcends all possible physical features, for what makes him so special is not to be seen, but felt. It’s in his eyes gleaming with kindness, it’s in his smile radiating serenity, it’s in his sunny disposition, it’s in his naturally comforting presence, that draws everyone’s attention towards him without him even noticing just how incredibly charming he is.

For a few seconds, they stay in silence, shyly eyeing each other sideways every now and then, neither one of them daring to add anything after Youngjo’s bold remark. Moreover, be it meeting in a context so radically different from where they are used to see each other, be it the fact that, for the very first time, they are purposely meeting for something that, unequivocally, feels like a date, but both of them are taut like bowstrings as they scrutinize each other’s every move with watchful eyes.

“So, what’s it with this Godfather revival type of invitation?” Geonhak says, eventually breaking the silence and faking indifference, as he flips the pages of the menu.

“You have to admit you loved it!” Youngjo replies, winking at him, while storing the book back to his place in the briefcase, not even minding bookmarking the page he was at.

“I did, I’ll give you that.” The other man says, shrugging as he admits his defeat. “It’s a seven and a half, for the wit and imagination displayed.”

“A what?” Youngjo asks, raising an eyebrow, perplexed and surprised.

“Seven and a half. Out of ten. Seems fairly generous, if you ask me.” He answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Are… Are you giving me grades right now?” Youngjo mutters, eyes widened in shock. Sure, he’s been out the game for a while, but grading dates is definitely news to him.

“Of course I am. You said this was supposed to be a date.” 

“And do you actually grade dates?” He asks, genuinely curious, but also still stunned and struggling to make sense out of that whole discourse.

“You bet I do! Everyone does!” Geonhak answers, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. “Some people are just more honest about it than others, but it’s something we all, more or less consciously, do. How would you know if you want to go on another date with that person, otherwise?”

Youngjo doesn’t know what to say, at that point. Of course, he understands that what Geonhak is telling him does, actually, make a lot of sense, but at the same time he feels immensely pressurized. If previously he was scared to ask him on a proper date, now he is straight up terrified. So much for being himself and not trying too hard, the last time he’s been this nervous it was when he took his doctorate examination.

Thankfully, before he can spiral even further in this kind of thoughts, a waitress approaches them to take their order, relieving, albeit slightly, the tension.

“You’ll get a stomachache, with all those Americanos…” Geonhak murmurs, as soon as the waitress leaves them to their conversation.

“Oh, trust and believe, it’s safe to say it takes way less than that...” Youngjo answers, regretting his words the moment they leave his mouth. He should have kept that sort of observation to himself. Those kinds of reactions are exactly what makes him look bitter, cold and mean, and the last person he would ever want to give this impression to is exactly the one who is now sitting across the table and looking at him, puzzled.

“Youngjo?” Geonhak calls, sweetly, before adding: “I’m glad you asked me out. I’m glad to be here, with you, today.”

Then, he places his hand on top of Youngjo’s. A hand as light as a feather, and yet capable, at once, of both shaking Youngjo to the core and almost moving him to tears, just by those gentle caresses indulging on his cold knuckles.

It’s when he talks like this that Youngjo wishes he could crumble in front of him, allow himself to break down and come clean with just how wholeheartedly he adores him. When his voice feels as warm as a caress directed to his soul. When his eyes glance at him like he is the only person that really matters, in that moment. When his hands touch him and he gets the feeling of having fireworks setting his chest alight. When he speaks, and all of his fears, his anguishes, his distresses, fade away, completely erased by that kind of magic Geonhak has to make everything right. That’s when Youngjo knows he would like to go on a million other dates with him, but he’s too shy to tell him, he’s too scared to be so daring, too guarded to risk it all.

So he smiles.

He smiles, as his heart melts, and says: “I’m glad you came. Not everyone would have wasted their morning with me.”

“Please. I’d waste more than a morning with you.” Geonhak answers, with a shy, yet eloquent, smile.

“Are you, perchance, suggesting we waste an evening together, next time?” Youngjo asks, hesitantly and stumbling on his words, but still feeling at least a tiny bit more confident than before by Geonhak’s way of subtly encouraging him.

“Only if you ask in an equally original way as you did today.” He says, with a cute giggle, followed by a delightfully adorable nose scrunch.

“Oh, if that’s how you put it, know that I am definitely not settling for a seven and a half. Next time, I’m aiming for a nine, to say the least.” Youngjo responds, playfully teasing him on the grade stuff he brought up earlier.

“I won’t expect any less from a former honor student.” 

“Wait… How did you…”

“I am a General Pedagogy professor, I know better than to come unprepared.” Geonhak says, with a wink.

Then, the waitress arrives, carrying a silver tray with their drinks on top, and the conversation slides towards lighter and more practical subjects, such as what time their first lessons will be that day and how incredibly gorgeous the cake tastes.

Somehow, that whole grades business, that had confused and mildly offended Youngjo just a few minutes before, seems to have, somehow, gotten stuck into his head as a sort of stimulus to do things better, grander, bolder next time.

So much that, after they part, Youngjo feels challenged enough to begin formulating right away more options as for what to come up with for his future date with Geonhak.

* * *

  
  
  


They go on five more dates, after that first one, for each of which, Youngjo devises a brand new way to surprise Geonhak, and not always effortlessly, with (he very much so hopes) unconventional ways to ask him out.

For the first one, he asks one of the students, who he knows attends both of their classes, to hand over to Geonhak a book, all wrapped up in a bland, brown paper and tightly tied up with some twine, with the recommendation to tell him to not tear the paper for any reason.

Later on that day, when Geonhak unwraps it, in his studio, he remains silent for a few seconds: it’s a copy of Being and Time by Heidegger, the book on which Youngjo has renownedly built his whole research career upon. The thought would be moving and delightful, but the real plot twist happens when Geonhak opens it and finds a note from Youngjo, reciting: “This book is my all time favourite, but now I cherish it even more, because it reminds me of what I really aim for in life: BEING with you, all the TIME.” At that sight, he bursts out in a laughter so loud that it echoes throughout the whole corridor, and it isn’t even all. When he glances down at the wrapping paper, he notices that Youngjo has drawn a very detailed map on its inner part, with a small note on the right bottom: “Here’s a map from your place to the restaurant where we’re having dinner tonight, at 7:00. Also useful to find your way back, should you get lost in my eyes.”

For the second one, Youngjo abruptly slams the door of Geonhak’s office while he’s buried with paperwork, carrying an insanely huge and terribly heavy jute bag, stuffed with pebbles. When he is close enough to the desk, he stares at a clearly dumbfounded Geonhak, straightens his back, proudly places both hands on his hips, and declares: “The more you know: penguins bring a pebble to court their partner, but since I'm way more serious than a penguin, here are all the pebbles I could find to prove my dedication.”, before leaving the room. As Geonhak opens the bag, with a loud sigh, he immediately has to sit down and dry up the tears that rise to his eyes, for he immediately notices that Youngjo has handpainted each and every single pebble to resemble stars in the night sky, and has added a small heart on their bottoms. While still fumbling with the pebbles in the bag, he finds a piece of cardboard, handpainted as well, reciting: “You know why Leibniz was wrong? Because this is not just the best of all possible worlds, this is actually the best of all possible universes: it has U ‘n I in it.”

For the third one, Youngjo gets definitely more subtle: instead of a triumphant entrance in his studio, he just sends a text to Geonhak, urging him to go and take a look at the volumes of his encyclopedia, with no other context or explanation. So, when Geonhak finishes his lesson and is finally free to head back to his studio, that’s exactly the first thing he does, and he ends up blushing and giggling like a teenager when, much to his surprise, he notices that Youngjo has realigned the volumes in order to spell DATE PLS, while on his desk sits a huge bouquet of white roses and baby’s breath, with a cute card decorated with golden swirls, that says: “My knowledge may not be as multifaceted as Diderot’s, but lately I’m beginning to be persuaded that all I really want to know is how to make you smile. Care giving me a chance to lead a very accurate study on such a breathtaking phenomenon?”

For the fourth one, yet again, Youngjo decides to follow the route of unpredictability and, trying to go as unseen as he possibly can, which is quite a hard task, actually, he leaves a six feet tall black cat plushie in front of his apartment’s door, with a label, placed between its paws, where he has written: “I know this is nothing but the product of human _poiesis_ , crafted in order to emulate (quite poorly, if its size and proportions are taken into consideration) an original _idea_ of what a cat is, but while my interest in you may not be Platonic, a stargazing date would be surely iconic. Meet me tomorrow, after work, at the Planetarium.” 

Youngjo actually feels like the plushie idea is incredibly trivial and possibly overused, but, from what he has witnessed happening in the academic environment, a diametrically and sadly ironically similar sort has happened to Plato, who has basically become, over the decades, some sort of mainstream popstar of the history of philosophy. Nevertheless, the moment Geonhak sends him a selfie where he is laying in bed and hugging the cat plushie, each and every insecurity is suddenly blown away from his mind, only leaving room for a thought that, maybe, he should not even dare having… _How he wishes he were there_.

Before their fifth date, though, Youngjo gets a phone call from the University of Tubingen demanding his presence for a series of conferences on Heidegger’s Being and Time in comparison to Sartre’s Being and Nothingness and Gadamer’s Truth and Method, thing for which he is, of course, extremely excited for, but, at the same time, has a bittersweet aftertaste in his mouth. He cannot believe that such an exceptional occasion is being handed to him, that all of his hard work has, at long last, resulted in such an inherent acknowledgement of his proficiency, that after committing body and soul to his cursus honorum, the global philosophical community has eventually recognised his authority to the point of inviting him to take part to an initiative of that stature. It’s his big chance. It’s his occasion to truly break through the European philosophical scene, and he cannot allow himself to prepare a project that is anything less than perfect. But, in order to do so, he needs to be completely focused and devoted with the utmost discipline to writing the paper that will embody the chance of a lifetime. In the academic environment, Youngjo knows well, one cannot allow himself to make any mistakes. He cannot waste such a precious moment, knowing that the eyes of all the most relevant Contemporary Philosophyscholars will be pointed on him, by presenting a work that could be deemed to be fallacious or inaccurate in any of its points and, at the same time, Youngjo has to make sure that his original perspective on the matter is able to come through in an original, innovative and compelling way. He’s anxious. He’s concerned. He’s petrified. 

In this circumstance, he knows he should probably call Seoho to receive a well-deserved scolding for being so lily-livered, but the truth is that Youngjo is already having a hard time as it is, knowing that, if he doesn’t attend, he will sorely regret it, and yet not feeling motivated in overcoming his atavic fears by said knowledge in the slightest.

All he needs is a huge and a few reassuring words and, even though probably Geonhak will tease him for the rest of his days, his number is still the first thing he types on his phone’s display, right after hanging up with the dean of Tubingen’s University.

“Hey there, are you busy? Can you talk?” Youngjo says, in a fret, as soon as Geonhak picks up.

“Hello you. Actually, no, I just got home after grocery shopping. Don’t tell me you had any plans for tonight because I just bought a whole roasted chicken.” Geonhak answers, and he seems so happy to hear him that Youngjo could cry.

“So you would really prefer a chicken to a man? How Platonic of you…” He jokes, trying to kick the anxiety away, but he is still so shaken that he can barely make it to shape his voice in a tone that doesn’t sound _too_ miserable.

“Stop dissing Plato, for once in your life.” The other man says, teasingly, but by now Geonhak knows him too well to not detect that there surely must be something going on. “...Youngjo, are you ok? Is anything the matter?”

“I’m ok, I guess. I just got a call from the University of Tubingen. They want me to go there in order to take part in some conferences based on the European Existentialism.”

“Oh my God, Youngjo, that’s amazing!” Geonhak chirps, applauding him from the other end of the line.

“I know, _but_ …” Youngjo adds, helplessly plopping down on his studio’s chair, with a disheartened sigh, and holding his head in his hands.

“ _Oh no_ …”

“ _Oh no_ what?”

“That’s a very big _butt_ , isn’t it?” Geonhak asks, playfully, but still in an incredibly empathetic tone, warm as a caress and comforting as a hug, that makes him long to be into his arms.

“A _huge_ one.” Youngjo remarks, slowly sliding his arms along the desk and laying his head to rest on the piles of papers he still has to tidy up before going home. He’s so tired and there are so many thoughts going through his mind, right now, that he would only want to turn off his brain, just for a while. Just for that night.

“Hey, listen, why don’t you come over at my place? Instead of going out tonight, we could eat the roasted featherless biped, chill out and, if you feel like it, talk about this _huge butt_ that is troubling you so much. Or not. We can also decide we don’t want any _huge butts_ in this household. It’s up to you and you only, whatever you’re more comfortable doing. I’m glad to just hang out with you.” Geonhak suggests, as sweetly as he can, like he could cuddle him with his own voice, wishing, more than anything else, to be able to comfort Youngjo, or at least to offer him some relief, in that moment.

It’s the first time Youngjo doesn’t find himself in the position of having to be the one to take the initiative, and he’s quite grateful to Geonhak for that. He really needs to see him, but he could have probably never been in the condition to cheer himself up and be in the right mood to actually see anyone, let alone organizing a proper date that could live up to his irreasonably high standards. 

When he arrives at Geonhak's apartment, he is welcomed on the doorstep by a delightful perfume of chicken and by a faint jazz background coming from his flat. He pushes the slightly opened door and takes a step inside.

The apartment is beautifully furnished, in a style that is clearly inspired by the modern Scandinavian interior design, with light, neutral colors, contrasted by darker decorative elements, softly enlightened by lamps that diffuse a warm, welcoming light.

It’s very much mirroring Geonhak’s personality, Youngjo thinks, as he takes another step and says, hesitantly: “Hello?”

“Hello there! Make yourself at home, I’ll be there in a minute!” Geonhak answers, from another room.

Now, out of all things one could tell Youngjo, _make yourself at home_ , just like _don’t worry_ , is one of those platitudes that happen to be automatically registered by his brain as its complete opposite, and it takes him an immense deal of effort to gather up all of whatever courage is left in him and sit on one of the sofas, stiff as a stick, without even taking his coat off. 

After a couple minutes, which Youngjo spends looking around himself, while trying to keep it together as a voice inside of him is practically begging him to leave, Geonhak appears, from the one that he believes to be the kitchen, and joins him on the sofa.

“Come, I know you’ve had a rough one...” Geonhak says, spreading his arms wide open and allowing Youngjo to slowly curl up against his chest, as he hugs him tight and sprinkles kisses on his forehead. It’s the very first time that Geonhak kisses him. It feels so calming. Soothing. Healing. Youngjo tightly tugs on the soft, woollen turtleneck that Geonhak is wearing and sinks his face in the crook of his chest. Gosh, he smells good. 

He smells like tenderness. 

He smells like home. 

“Wanna eat?” Geonhak asks, gently stroking his hair, playing with some of his dark locks between one kiss and another.

Youngjo doesn’t answer, he just shakes his head as to say no.

“How about a drink?” He then asks, but once again he gets a headshake from Youngjo as an answer, his fingers clenching even tighter on the fabric of his clothes. “Alright. You know what we’re going to do? We’re taking off your coat and shoes, we’re going to have a nice glass of wine and then I’m going to tell you my thoughts on this situation. Nod if it’s fine for you.” 

Youngjo nods and silently complies, as Geonhak gently unties his shoes and unbuttons his coat, checking his expressions between one gesture and the other to make sure he’s okay with him taking those pieces of clothing off of him, just like one would do with a child.

Indeed, Youngjo does feel like a child in that circumstance, and he’d be lying if he said he’s not ashamed of himself.

He’s not used to feeling that way, let alone being proud of himself for being that needy. 

Tired.

Weak.

Vulnerable.

During his whole life, he has been taught that the only way to handle distress and suffering is to clench your teeth, _man up_ , endure the pain, suck it up and let time do its thing. Even though having such a solid group of friends, as the one he has, is been of great help through the most recent years, Youngjo still feels, deep inside of him, a sort of block that prevents him from opening up completely, from trusting people to the fullest, from being his most honest self, from manifesting his emotions, his thoughts, his ideas, his beliefs, everything that makes him who he really is. If when he’s with Geonhak said block feels like a rock that, for however hard it might be, he somehow manages to overcome, when he is alone, on the contrary, it suddenly turns into an unsurmontable mountain that leaves him worn out and miserably hollow. 

“Better now?” Geonhak asks, after opening up a bottle of red wine and pouring two generous glasses. 

“...I guess.” Youngjo answers, sticking out his hand to grab one of those from the tea table in front of the sofa.

“In my opinion, we can sum up this situation by saying that you’re having a massive outburst of metaphysical performance anxiety.” He says, taking a sip of wine and gazing inquisitively with his intense, dark eyes, to scrutinize Youngjo’s reactions to his words as he speaks. 

“Oh, please, be honest with me.” Youngjo responds, sarcastically, raising his eyebrows as he tastes the wine himself.

Geonhak leans towards him, placing the glass on the tea table, and reaches out with his hand to gently palm the tense muscle of Youngjo’s shoulder, massaging a little harder on the stiffest ones, every now and then. 

“No, but seriously, listen to me. I’m not an expert in the field, and yet it seems evident, even to me, that this convocation is not only a huge acknowledgement of your work, but also, inherently, a turning point for your career. Knowing how much hard work and commitment you have put into your work, it’s only understandable that you might feel like this, when someone you obviously respect reaches out with this kind of proposal.”

“Normal, you say? I don’t feel normal. I don’t feel anything near what could be defined as normal, or acceptable, or understandable. I’m being fearful. Very much irrationally so. I am being childish. I am being an embarrassment.” Youngjo cannot even bring himself to look at him. He holds his head low, avoiding his gaze, and aggressively bites on his own lips, to somehow soothe the raging shame that’s taking over him.

He’s supposed to be happy.

He should be ecstatic, in awe, head over heels over this chance.

This is, quite literally, the kind of occasion that one gets once in a lifetime, and yet, while any other of his colleagues would be bursting with joy and partying like no tomorrow, all he can do is whine about it.

Youngjo swallows the thick knot of self-resentment in his throat.

 _Pathetic_.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t see how you would be embarrassing anyone.” Geonhak’s voice, velvet-smooth, once again lulls him out of his head and back to reality, with its calm, relaxing pace. “It might seem strange to you, but I can’t help but wonder… Have you ever stopped, for a minute, to ask yourself if this crippling fear derives from you being terrified to fail or from you being terrified to succeed?”

“...Does it make any difference?” Youngjo asks back, desperately glancing at Geonhak, openly showing him all the raw fear and dreariness in his eyes, like some sort of crack from which he could take a peek at the turmoil of his soul.

“Of course it does. These are two very different types of fears that require different strategies. Think of your mind like a garden: you have to develop the emotional intelligence to understand where this fear stems from, if you want to eradicate it, or you’ll find yourself blindly scything not only the weeds, but the flowers as well. But if you don’t dig deeper inside of you to _know yourself_ , as all of you goddamned philosophers say all the time, you will never find an appropriate solution to these issues. Right now, you are being swayed left and right by your fear brain, that is literally going on a rampage, and there’s not much you can do about it, since you are completely blown away by this raging anxiety that is clearly out of control. If you have no idea of where you are going, if you don’t know what you need, you have no way of finding a way to cope, not to mention a solution. So, again, if you think, in all honesty, that your work may not be mature enough to take part in this event, I say decline. There’s no shame in retreating, if you believe that you could do better if you had more time. This will not be the only chance you will be given in your entire life, I can assure you. You’re too smart and too talented for that to be the case. But if you think that things could be perfect, that you could do amazing work, that this is what you have been waiting for, and yet you allow your brain to be a bully just for the sake of comfort, then it’s a whole different scenario and you deserve to be kicked in the ass.”

“If you think that would help, I would gladly let you.” Youngjo says, smiling, at last, and rubbing his head in a catlike way on Geonhak’s chest, seeking comfort, cuddles and, possibly, complicity.

But he ends up finding so much more than that.

He finds all those things he didn’t even know, until then, he had missed on about life, during all those years spent guarding his heart and keeping himself busy, spinning like a pinwheel, so he wouldn’t have time to feel their lack, such as sympathy, care and, most of all, intimacy.

There is so much Youngjo finds out about himself, while looking through Geonhak’s eyes.

About the world.

About life.

About love.

About himself.

Kissing him once more on the forehead and ruffling his hair, Geonhak softly asks, under his breath: “Are you feeling better?” 

“I guess…” Though he doesn’t sound fully convinced, at least, he has to admit, his heart does feel a little lighter and calmer. Light enough for him to joke and say: “Must’ve been the wine.” 

“Damn, you must be craving that kick in the ass!” Teases Geonhak, before cupping his face and nuzzling his nose against Youngjo’s.

Through their muffled giggles and the caresses, the fluttering lids and brushing lashes, they’re now so close they could kiss, nothing but a lithe breath between their lips, that slowly soften up, surrendering to the need to quietly speak their wordless truth, as they expectantly tend towards one another, eager for that closure, yet hesitating to take the lead.

They wait, and wait, and wait.

They wait, as it still feels too early.

They wait, until it’s too late.

There is a tremble in Youngjo’s nerves, before he slightly pulls away, to glance at Geonhak with glistening, longing eyes, filled with regrets and missed opportunities.

He has sacrificed everything to shape himself with great rigor and ambition, that everything else has gotten lost on the way, and he is just now realizing that.

“Geonhak… I’m sorry, I… It’s not like I don’t want to…” Youngjo mutters, pressing his forehead against Geonhak’s and wrapping his hands around his neck, to softly brush his thumbs along the delicate curve of his nape.

“Shh, it’s ok. I know you do. We both do.” Geonhak replies, pulling him close to hug and reassure him. 

“Yes, it’s just that… Today’s been a lot.” 

“We’re in no rush, anyway, are we? Now, let’s eat and then we’ll talk about what to do for those conferences, ok? We have to make sure your paper is top notch.”

Youngjo nods, grabbing again his glass of wine and drinking whatever is left of it in one shot.

A small smile unfurls on his lips, and this time, he’s very much positive, it has nothing to do with the wine.

He said “ _we_ ”. Like it is the most natural thing in the world to just assume that they are going to face things at each other’s side, from now on. 

He just said it, weightlessly, he really did, and he doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest by the fact that, now, he cannot take that back.

They’re a _we_ , and Youngjo could swear he never knew that something as small as a pronoun would make him feel so complete.

* * *

  
  
  


Once again, after the events of that night, everything changes for the both of them.

Not just because they end up being even closer, if one could possibly imagine such a thing.

But because they seem to have moved to a different stage of their relationship, where every gesture, every word, every moment spent together feels a lot more effortless, intimate and serene. After the awareness of their feelings’ reciprocity has occurred to them, a sense of complicity blesses their bond, entwining them tighter than ever.

Furthermore, the help Geonhak provides to Youngjo, with the research and redaction of his paper, ends up being not only remarkably valuable, for the sake of a final result that is nothing short of perfection. In addition to that, his undying moral support is what really makes the most dramatic difference, when it comes to softening his temperament, on the one side, and reassuring him about his skills, on the other.

If Geonhak has been, from the very beginning, a somewhat subtly revolutionary influence in Youngjo’s everyday life, with his soft power and gentle ways, now he finds himself embracing the role of leading Youngjo to becoming his best self, more aware of his individual and intellectual value, and stripped of all those elements he used to rely on, to hide away his insecurities behind an overly confident persona.

They usually meet after finishing work and decide where to go and what to do on a whim, even though, ever since Youngjo’s convocation, their main activity has been hanging out in the library or at one of their flats to work on his presentation. But, as Youngjo’s departure draws nearer, so does spring, and even though they very much behave, speak and do most things like a couple, they haven’t yet officially defined themselves as one, nor have they ever kissed, yet, after that night at Geonhak’s apartment.

The more days go by, the more a sense of awkwardness, concerning the matter, seems to rise and, as it often happens to shy individuals, neither of them can find a way to disentangle the whole matter. On the surface, it doesn’t seem to be upsetting them too much, but on a deeper level they’re also both well aware that, if they will let every occasion slip by, they will have to postpone any honest talk about their feelings and about them as a, matter of fact, established couple after Youngjo’s trip to Europe. Thing which, as time passes by, becomes a somewhat ominous prescience in the back of their minds.

It’s a sunny Saturday morning and Youngjo has been working until very late at night, when his phone rings, waking him up. With his eyes still closed, mumbling a long, unidentifiable, scuffling series of slurs and curses directed to whoever is calling him, he looks for his phone, fumbling on the blankets with his hands, until he finds it and automatically picks up.

“In the name of God and everything holy in this wasteland of a world, if you are calling me to offer me a promotional deal on my light bill, I will track you and your whole family and…” He says, angrily, as he lifts himself up and rubs his eyes.

“I understand the danger of calling you before 12:00 p.m. on the weekend, but I was actually calling to offer you breakfast.” Geonhak cackles, amused at Youngjo’s amazing reaction.

“Oh _fuck_ … I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Youngjo covers his face with both of his hands, really wishing he could dig himself a hole in the ground, deep enough to bury himself in it and never be found again. “Is the invitation still valid, even though I’ve been a complete asshole?”

“I mean, you know how _incredibly touchy_ I am, but I could change my mind on one condition. You have to buy ice cream.” If Youngjo focuses enough, he can see Geonhak smiling as he answers.

“I’ll buy you the entire kiosk.” He says, smiling back, filled with joy and anticipation at the now formidably rosy looking day ahead of him.

They agree on meeting, as they did on their very first date, at the English Girl’s Cafe, which, if delightful during the winter, appears prodigiously breathtaking on those first weeks of spring, surrounded by beautiful, blossoming cherry trees and nestled as it is in the verdant, sunkissed lawn. At the same table where they sat down four months ago, sits Geonhak, focused on the reading of a newspaper and sipping on a cup of green tea, impeccable as always in a white shirt, light grey sweater and black trousers. Youngjo feels a little overdressed in his attire, involving a blue corduroy blazer, in the same tone of his fustian slacks, baby blue shirt and a silk scarf with a cool-toned fantasy print.

When Youngjo is close enough, he flicks the back of the newspaper, making Geonhak wince, surprised, and, mimicking his words from that first date, he says: “Will you put down that newspaper?”

“Well, what was I supposed to do, while I waited for the view to arrive?” Geonhak answers, folding the newspaper and putting it down on a corner of the table, while he stretches his back and leans against the backrest of the chair.

“Oh, stop it, you flatterer.” Youngjo answers, shaking his head and blushing, as he sits down in front of him.

“I told you that spending too much time with you would have had a terrible influence on me.” The other one winks at him, playfully, and takes a sip of the still steaming tea from a gracefully decorated teacup, rimmed in gold foil.

“Did you, now?” Youngjo pretends to have no idea what he’s talking about but, of course, he remembers. He treasures every moment they have spent together way too dearly to forget anything, even just a single joke.

“I did. On the first day of the winter session.”

“Why did you persevere, then?”

“Because, back then, I failed to mention my outstanding masochistic tendencies.” Geonhak laughs. It’s an airy, breathy laugh, hysterically contagious.

“Oh, that would make sense. I should have noticed when you volunteered to help me with my incredibly tedious essay.” Youngjo retaliates, poking fun at himself and cackling.

But then, instead of bouncing the ball back right away, Geonhak takes a couple seconds to think about his answer, rubbing his pressed lips one against the other, brows furrowed. He sets the teacup on its saucer, crosses his fingers, hands resting on his lap, and then, very slowly, raises his eyes to gaze at Youngjo, carefully. “I guess this could be a way of seeing that. Or you could take into consideration the fact that I genuinely adore you and would do anything to have the chance to be with you.”

“You do?”

“Youngjo…” Geonhak sighs, rolling his eyes, then looking at him with a glance that reveals a certain kind of tiredness. Almost defeated. A small smile pushes up one corner of his lips, as he tilts his head, and adds: “By now, one would have only expected you to have noticed.”

“It… It’s not like I didn’t notice. I just wasn’t expecting the bluntness in your wording of choice.” Youngjo tries, in his very own clunky, stunted way, to switch the subject. To brighten up the atmosphere. The light he’s seeking ever so desperately in Geonhak’s eyes, though, not only doesn’t shine, as it usually does when he’s amused, but it actually seems to be helplessly fading.

“Can we not turn this date into a semantics’ seminary?” He says, in a whisper, forcing himself to smile. Very poor attempt, must be said, but nonetheless an attempt. The umpteenth.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry, just… maybe, sometimes, you should try to make an effort at reading the room.” Geonhak says.

He’s sad.

There is a melancholia, in those words, which is so new and so incongruous with the Geonhak that Youngjo has always seen, that he cannot help but feel a stab at his heart.

Seoho was right.

If he had been pacing too much, he would have lost him, and now Youngjo can see it happening, tragically clearly, like a shadow hidden in the smoke inside a crystal ball.

He’s getting tired of all that, of all the jokes, and the games, and the playfulness, and the silly pick up lines, and of giving him his all, and rightfully so.

Things have gone too far with both the funny part and the endless pacing, dancing around every conversation regarding giving themselves a proper relational collocation, and while Geonhak has been close to him with all of his heart, giving him hints, supporting him, standing by his side, Youngjo has not really given him any clear, unmistakable declaration of intents to cling onto. Geonhak may not be fully aware of it himself, but Youngjo can sense that this is the direction things are going to take, if he doesn’t act.

If Youngjo doesn’t walk that extra mile he has always sworn he was willing to walk for Geonhak, if he doesn’t turn all of the promises and oaths he made to himself to do everything in his power for him, if now, at the time for the fact check, he doesn’t turn all of his romantic thoughts and fantasies into practical actions, he will lose Geonhak.

Geonhak, and whatever is left of valuable, joyful and alive of himself, too, in the bargain.

“Should I assume that we are not here for the food?” Youngjo says, raising an eyebrow, entirely rhetorically.

“I mean, the food surely weighed in the decision, but you’re right. It’s definitely more because of the symbolism tied to this place.”

“The place where you gave me the lowest grade of my life?” Yongjo pokes, again, hating himself for seeming to be so incapable of mustering up the courage to eventually do and say what, he believes, has been in everyone’s eyes for a long while.

“Will you stop it!” Geonhak retaliates, and whilst he tries to sound playful, his words are indeed coated by a slight veil of bitterness.

“I will. I promise you, I will. I… Listen, would you mind if we go for a walk? Very childish of me, I know, but I need to stretch my legs.” Youngjo mutters, helpless, clenching his fingers so tight, around the armrests of the iron chair, that his knuckles turn white.

“Sure. I already paid, so we can go right now, if you’d like.” Geonhak replies, standing up and putting the newspaper under his arm.

“Marvellous.” Youngjo answers, as they both leave the Cafe and take a few steps on the path of pebbles surrounding the artificial lake. While nervously cracking his knuckles and fidgeting with the buttons of his blazer, Youngjo turns around and looks at Geonhak. The silhouette of his face stands out from the soft background, severe, imperscrutable, focused on who knows what sort of reflections. 

“Geonhak, I am renowingly awful when it comes to expressing my feelings. I’m aware of that, and I don’t expect you to tolerate that part of me. I can barely live with it myself, so I can only imagine the frustration and disappointment my behaviors must have brought to you.” When Youngjo’s words start to flow out of his mouth, like a muffled prayer, he is almost deafened by the frantic sound of his racing heartbeat, thundering in his eardrums and completely overshadowing the rest of the world, besides him and Geonhak.

The sound of their steps, the wind whirling, the cherry blossoms dancing in ellipses to the ground, nothing of that has room in his mind anymore. 

If he really wants to be with him, Youngjo knows, he has to crack his heart open and then hand it over, naked and raw, to Geonhak to see.

His feelings, his thoughts, his fears, his everything.

No more concealing or overthinking, no more tiptoeing or pulling himself out.

It hurts him and terrifies him, but, then again, Youngjo cannot even fathom what kind of pain losing Geonhak would mean. Even more so, he doesn’t want to find out.

So he does.

He tightly closes his eyes, sinks his teeth so deep in his lower lip it could bleed at any time, and breathes. 

“You know,” Youngjo, at long last, says, “You have only seen me after meeting you, so you wouldn’t have known how I was before, even though, I am sure, rumours must have reached you, too. Our environment is quite restricted, it’s almost like living an undercover, fancier version of high school, and I have never had any interest in being among the cool kids. I was a loner then, just like I was one a few months ago. Maybe worse. Bitter, rancorous, standoffish, unpleasant, resentful. These are just a few selected of the many adjectives I have heard people defining me with. Misanthrope, even. I was forgetting about that. The very first times people started expressing such terribly hurtful opinions on me, I remember that I cried. Especially _misanthrope_.” 

A tear rolls down one of his cheeks, as the word dies down in his throat, voice broken by a tug of ancient agony he thought he had long forgotten. 

“Back then, I didn’t realize why that word, specifically, and not all the other way more gross, vulgar, revolting insults they used to address me with, wounded me like that. Like a thousand knives, savagely ravaging my throat and leaving me speechless, incapable to retaliate, to speak in my defense, to stand up for myself. I was surrounded by individuals who saw something broken, unfitting, irrimediably flawed in me, and I believed them. I let them torture me without even understanding why I, out of all people, had to be cursed with the fire brand of the outcasts. A brand everyone but me, apparently, could see at a first glance. Whatever I said, whatever I did, however hard I tried to prove them that I was not the awful monster they had decided I was, never sufficed. Ferocious and bloodthirsty, they went berserk on me, twisting my words and actions, mortifying and belittling me every time I tried, with all of my heart, to prove them how the narrative they had so carefully crafted was utterly wrong. They looked at me and, with deliberate cruelty, refused to see how desperately I was trying to open up to them, to show them the real me. They had decided, in my place, who I was supposed to be in their hierarchy. What my role was. And they beat me down and broke me in so many ways and occasions, that eventually I gave up. I understood that I had to swallow the pain and just come to terms with the fact that maybe, if what the majority of people saw in me was so disgusting, then maybe there had to be a glimpse of truth in that.”

Just the time to take a handkerchief from his pocket and to dab it under his eyes, and Youngjo forces himself to proceed, while still trying to avoid Geonhak’s eyes at all costs, to prevent himself from crumbling down in front of him yet again. 

“As time went on, things surely didn’t get better. They say time heals everything, but I have to differ. Time heals nothing, if you don’t do anything with it, and I surely had no awareness of that, back then. But I somehow learnt the only coping method that, as someone who had no one at all, seemed to be reasonable enough to grant me a chance of survival: sucking it up and building an impenetrable armor. I understood that no one wanted to know who I was or how I felt, so I embraced whatever role others wanted me to play. Cold, detached, aloof, sarcastic, you name it. I discovered that, if I hardened my heart, strayed away from the pulsating pain coming from years of traumas and exclusively focused on studying, I had possibly found a way to thrive, in my very own way. Until I didn’t feel anything, either, nor knew who I was, anymore. Didn’t matter, really, since the academic titles qualified me, more eloquently than any other former fire brand bestowed upon me, and gave me a whole new dignity in the eyes of the world. I finally was not a passenger in my own life anymore. I built myself, through endless dedication, an identity I could live with. One that wouldn’t require me to open up to anyone. That made me feel valued. Welcomed. Admired. My degrees and publications soon became a sort of heartless gold foil I stuck on my increasingly rooted isolation. At the same time, oddly enough, during the years of my higher education, I was somehow able to make the dearest friends one could ever hope to find. They saw me. They saw right through whichever lie I have been trying to live, and accepted me, loved me,cared for me, no matter what. But while all of them grew up, both professionally and personally, I only accomplished half of that growth. Namely, because I had no reason to go through all the pain that growth involves. No wonder they’re called _growth pains_ . It was all too fucking painful, and I always hid myself behind the alibi that I had had enough sufferance for this life and probably the next ones to come. _But_ …”

“But?” Geonhak asks, inserting himself during the short pause Youngjo takes.

Geonhak looks at him and, at long last, he sees Youngjo. Youngjo as himself, crushed by the hurt nestled in his soul. Youngjo in all of his frailty and vulnerability. Without any of the masks he has been wearing to survive. Head down, lashes soaking wet, brows furrowed and lips pressed together, his face streaked by the tears he doesn’t even try to oppose anymore, completely twisted by a pain he has been trying his best to not succumb to over the years. 

After a long pause, before he goes on, Youngjo rolls his shoulders, as if he were to shake the weight off of them, and turns to meet Geonhak’s eyes while still doing his best to smile for him, as he lovingly looks at him with tearful, yet adoring, eyes.

“But the first time I saw you, I was utterly blown away by you. You walked into my room and the world became utterly irrelevant. I guess saying that you caught me off guard would be quite an understatement, as to explain how I really felt, but due to a lack of better wording, the only thing that could describe it is by saying that you appeared and my soul sighed in relief. You broke in like a shameless, overpowering ray of sun after a storm, and I knew nothing would have been the same anymore. That you would’ve changed everything. I just knew, because all I could feel was my beating heart, and nothing more. I couldn’t think of anything else anymore. I couldn’t perceive myself as I used to, anymore. You stepped in, with a timid smile and glowing eyes, looking like pure joy and with such a distinct feeling of sweetness to you, that I felt myself being swept off my feet. For the first time, I had the genuine desire to get to know someone in that whole faculty. Even more so, for the first time, I desperately wanted someone to know me. To choose me. To want me. To indulge me. Over everyone else. To see beyond the titles and the fire brands and the roles and the looks and the rumours. To see me for me, and still finding something valuable. I wanted you to know me, the real me, the one that goes beyond even my own knowledge. All of these thoughts were only endorsed by the fact that, the more things I got to know about you, the more charmed I was by every single one of them. Ever since we met, there has not been a single day during which I looked at you and didn’t think you are the most perfect creature in the world. You are perfect. Objectively perfect, from head to toe, from the way you smile to the way you speak, from the way you teach to the way you think, in the round. There’s not a thing I would ever want to change about you, not even under duress, and… and all of this is even more prodigious, if we consider that you looked at me and saw something loveable, unaware that, by doing that, you gave me the gift of making me feel as such. Like a tiny, blinding spark of your light settled in my soul and made me human, for a first in my life, you have subverted the subvertible and balanced the unbalanceable. Not only that. You have been nothing but delightful, supportive, selfless, caring, tender and gentle. Not to mention how amazingly intelligent and beautifully witty you are, making every conversation a joy, every date an adventure, every day a blessing. So, against this background, what I am struggling to say, because of the, unfortunately, persistent emotional trauma that is still rooted within me, and not for any lack of feelings, is that I am incredibly sorry if I have discouraged you or made you believe that what I feel for you is anything less than the greatest love a man can possibly feel.”

They both stop to contemplate the sight of the lake in absolute silence, its surface ever so slightly creased by the breeze and sparkling under the pale morning sunshine. 

A deep breath leaves Youngjo’s chest, meddling with the still slightly pungent air, as he swallows his tears and blinks his eyes, still stinging after the long cry. 

Then, he waits, trying to conceal the restlessness, the eagerness, the need for Geonhak to say something, to do something, to just… react. Though it only takes him a few seconds, to Youngjo it feels like hours of torment, and now the irony shows: he, who has kept Geonhak waiting for weeks, is nerve-wracked after no more than a minute.

For a very long moment, their eyes meet, and it takes all of their self control to not just fall into each other’s arms, overwhelmed with emotion.

“You know why I wanted to see you here, today?” Geonhak asks, after cleaning his throat, hands in his pockets, trying to recollect his thoughts after Youngjo’s speech, still stunned and moved by everything he has just heard. “I wanted to see you here because that’s where I realized I was falling in love with you, so it only seemed natural to go back to the start. Back then, when you asked me out, I remember knowing, for sure, that I was already, helplessly, childishly falling for you. Not even _falling_ , more like nosediving, actually. I remember I told you I graded the date a seven and a half. I lied. To me, you have always been a ten out of ten, under every possible perspective. I told you I was evaluating whether to go on another date with you, while I thought I would, very much likely, have been up to follow you to the moon and back. I played hard to get, while, in reality, I would have even been willing to beg for you to be mine. I put up quite a pathetic farse, and all in the fear of having my heart shattered, as it had happened in the past. With… quite a great deal of suffering and disillusion. I can definitely see how I might not have been the most encouraging person to court, for you. I’m sorry about how I allowed my fear to get in the way of making a step towards you. Several steps, maybe. More like a whole cross-country, if we’re being honest. But I used to think that holding myself back would have been the best way to behave. Following your lead, adapting to your pace. But now I actually loathe myself even more for not even taking a step towards you, not of the kind I would have wanted to, and all for the sake of safety. A safety of the worst sort, the selfish one. The one that convinces you that quietness and stillness are the best policy, if you don’t want to end up with a broken heart. But while I feared so much for my heart, I didn’t notice how much you were struggling to make everything perfect, and how you were doing it all for me, in order to love me. How so many things, which I have assumed as obvious, were anything but that, to you, and for which rightful reasons. I couldn’t see why something like a kiss wouldn’t come easy or natural to you, or why I could see you being so concerned for it to happen at the perfect time, in the perfect place. I couldn’t see how you were doing it all for my happiness. I failed to understand your love language and, now that I know, my blindness, my impatience mortify me. I should have known better, and I apologize for that…”

“Well. It’s not like I made it easy for you.” Youngjo stresses, with a faint smile timidly showing up on his lips, as he feels the tension between them slowly, but consistently, dissipating itself to make room for warmer feelings. 

The thing, about meeting Geonhak, someone as sensitive as him, with a different past but a similar background, as for knowing heartache and trauma, is that they have always proven to have a connection, an innate way of understanding one another on an intimate level and with an immediateness that anyone else wouldn’t even dream of having. Independently from how many aspects they may differ on, those are destined to be always overpowered by the aspects on which they are alike, and finding themselves back on their usual common ground, agreeing on what they value, on what they feel for each other, on their mutual intentions for their relationship, after such a long, demanding conversation, brings a newfound sense of peace and comfort to both of them.

“I think we could agree on going as far as saying that neither of us did. But at this point, I think there are still left a couple more things to say, for me, before we can come to a decision.”

“Go ahead.” Youngjo answers, while Geonhak points at a nearby bench, with a tilt of his head, as they both sit down on it.

“Sure, let’s… Grab the bull by the horns, so to speak. Gosh, these are the times I wish I had taken on Literature, instead of Pedagogy... Spending all those years studying poems really would have come in handy, right now. Well, I guess it’s too late for that kind of regret, so please forgive me if I’ll do it my way, and for God’s sake, Youngjo, if you interrupt this for any of your linguistic remarks, I swear you’ll pay for it.” Geonhak says, playing with his fingers and giggling to conceal how truly nervous he is. ““I love you, Youngjo. I love you with every single beat of my heart. I love you. I said it. I love you, and the last weeks, during which we have been closer than ever, working together on something as meaningful as your project, has made me realize that, whenever I look at you, I am simply overwhelmed by how much I adore you. You make me feel happy, fulfilled, complete. I love all of you, your intelligence and your playfulness, your corny pick up lines and your witty puns, your gentle soul and unbreakable spirit, your self awareness and boundless ambition. I cherish our fancy dinners just like our short breaks between lessons, our endless talks like the hours we spend in perfect silence, everything we have done together has been special to me, no matter what we did. Our conversations, our jokes, our sleepless nights, our dates, our walks, our everything… I could never imagine a life without any of that, let alone without you. Heck, I even love when you’re annoyingly fanboying over Existentialism, and, for surprising that it may seem, after having this talk with you, I love you even more.”

The pale sunrays become tinged in a warm, golden hue, as time passes and midday approaches, and an impertinent spot of light embraces the bench where they’ve been sitting in its ethereal glow exactly when Geonhak is done speaking.

All those days patiently spent waiting for a sign seem, at long last, to be rewarded by such an unprompted, yet unmistakable, hint.

Youngjo tilts his head to carefully study the adoring look in Geonhak’s eyes, the softness of his smile, the faint blush on his cheeks, the locks of his hair being lightly swept by the wind.

He understands that, if there is ever going to be a right place and a right time, it’s exactly this, and he wants to remember every detail. 

Hesitantly, Youngjo raises his trembling hands to cup Geonhak’s face, caressing his cheeks as his loved one closes his eyes, basking in the beatitude of that moment.

 _Now_ , Youngjo tells himself, _now is the time_.

He comes closer to him, as close as he can, and whispers a soft-spoken “I love you, too”, before rubbing his nose against Geonhak’s and gently pressing a delicate kiss on his lips, closely followed by many more, as their lips cannot seem to be able to part, but only to look for one another, again and again, tenderly, needily, adoringly, in an attempt to make up for all the time they had spent being kept apart against their will. 

Rose petals.

Geonhak has lips so soft and smooth that they remind him of rose petals, and Youngjo means to take his sweet time to indulge them. To discover them. To worship them, with the silent prayer of his kisses. 

Too long has his soul been flailing about. Too long has he allowed his past to overshadow his present. Too long has his heart been mistreated and misunderstood. Too long has his life felt like a barren wasteland of ominous predeterminations forced on him by others. 

But, now that he is sinking in the arms of the only person who can keep him together, now that he is living his truth by being who he wants to be, doing the one thing his heart has ever desired, basking in the light of love, everything has come to his fulfillment.

He feels at peace.

He feels at home.

Differently from any other previous experience they’ve had, those feelings of peace and familiarity do not fade when their kisses do, but linger in their rejoicing hearts and breathy giggles for quite a while afterwards, like real feelings, worth of the name, do. 

"So, what do you want to do now?" Youngjo asks, standing up, after Geonhak _oh so graciously_ concedes him a truce, after an abrupt love outburst, involving a playful combination of his very own secret weapons: merciless tickling and kisses unending.

"What do you mean? You promised you'd have bought me ice cream! No, wait, wipe that off. If I remember correctly, you _actually_ talked about buying me the whole kiosk..." Geonhak answers, leaving the bench, as well, to follow Youngjo with a gleeful, trotting gait on their way to the ice cream kiosk.

  
  


The English Girl’s Cafe truly has a wonderful view.

But, on that day, there is something that makes it even better: two handsome, smart, capable men, blessed with so much uncontainable, well-deserved joy, walking together on the glades of that idyllic scenery, hand in hand, sprinkling each other with kisses, filling the air with their loud laughters, and toasting to love and truth with their melting ice-creams, dripping on their fingers.

They’re the view.

They’ve always been the view, yet they have only managed to truly see each other now.


End file.
